LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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NITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



IBp #♦ $♦ ftustfriL 



LIBRARY NOTES. New Edition. Crown 8vo, $2.00. 

CHARACTERISTICS. Essays on Coleridge, Mrs. Siddons, 
Dr. Johnson, Macaulay, Lamb, Burns, Woolman, John 
Randolph, and John Brown, etc. i2mo, $2.00. 

ACLUBOFONE. Passages from the Note-Book of a Man 

who might have been Sociable. i6mo, gilt top, $1.25. 
IN A CLUB CORNER. The Monologue of a Man who 

might have been Sociable. i6mo, gilt top, $1.25. 
SUB-CCELUM : A Sky-Built Human World. i6mo, gilt top, 
$1.25. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, 
Boston and New York. 



Sub-Ccelum 



A SKY-BUILT HUMAN WORLD 



BY 

A. P. RUSSELL 

AUTHOR OF "A CLUB OF ONE," " LIBRARY NOTES," "CHARACTERISTICS" 
" IN A CLUB CORNER," ETC. 



Servant. Where dwellest thou ? 
Coriolamts. Under the canopy. 

Coriolanus, Act IV. Sc. V. 



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BOSTON AND NEW YORK j^ iXfjQ M 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY / ' 

1893 



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Copyright, 1893, 
By ADDISON P. RUSSELL. 

All rights reserved. 



IX-$W[ 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Favorably Situated g 

Abundance of Leisure 10 

Marked Individuality / / 

Exceptional Monsters // 

Conceit of Superior Excellence 12 

Couples of Six 12 

Schools generally Small 13 

Instruction in Radical Morals 14 

Chairs of Common Sense 15 

The Average Wisdom 16 

Instructed in Telling the Truth iy 

A Sober Experience 18 

Low, Unmeaning Language 18 

Conversation Cultivated 19 

Specialties of Every Sort 20 

Ingenuousness a Social Excellence 20 

Behavior 21 

A Habit of Charitable Judgment 23 

A Favorite Illustration . . . . 24 

Their Superior Men and Women 25 

Perpetual Surprises . . . 26 

Their Social Meetings 26 



4 Contents 

Their Floral Exhibitions 28 

Floating Radiances 30 

Each Day's Dinner 30 

Cooking a Proud Art ^ 

Morals and Stomach 34 

Bread-Making ^5 

The Papaw ^5 

Their Good Physicians 36 

The Quack Doctor in Contrast 38 

The Clergy of Sub-Ccelum 40 

The Golden Rule 41 

Clergymen of a Certain Character Extinct . . 43 

The Lawyer's Office 47 

A Turn was Made, but Slowly 48 

Effects of the Change 50 

Arbitration 52 

Advice Offices 5^ 

Laws Few in Sub-Ccelum 54 

Special Reformers not in Favor 56 

Effect of the Pervading Individuality 58 

Their Police System 59 

Fatality of Heredity 60 

Estates Limited 62 

Property in Friends 64 

Idleness Disreputable 65 

Indolence 6y 

Trifling for Selfish Ends 68 

A mbrosiafor the Soul 70 

Making and Earning Money 70 



Contents 5 

Manhood and Personal Freedom 7/ 

Native Manhood 72 

Ideal Manhood 7^ 

The Plebeian and the Aristocrat 74 

The Vices 76 

Common Sense and Practical Wisdom . ... 79 

Small Farms Preferred 80 

Fish-Ponds 81 

Bee-Culture 82 

Propagation of Poultry 84 

The Bird of Excellence 84 

The Sub-Ccelum Oyster . . ■ 85 

Grapes and Wine 8y 

Wine-Making 88 

Endless Orchards 90 

Highways Ideal 92 

How Cities and Villages were Laid Out . . . . 92 

Drainage . . 94 

Light and Heat 95 

Public Edifices 96 

Hotels . 98 

Bells 99 

Music 101 

Poets and Poetry 104 

Musical Voices 106 

Tight Dressing no 

A Felicity to be Weil-Born 112 

A Composite Population //^ 

Weddings in Sub-Ccelum uy 



6 Contents 

Reasons for Remaining Single up 

The First Gentleman to Speak up 

The Second 121 

The Third 123 

The First Lady 126 

The Second 128 

The Third 131 

Drunkenness 134 

Divorce 136 

Refuges for Certain Occasional Victims . . . . 1 37 

Retreats for Convalescents 140 

Hospices for Visiting Strangers 143 

Inventors and Scholars 146 

Old People and Children 148 

Burial-Places 149 

Little Distinction in Marking Graves .... 75/ 

Funerals 153 

Chapels in Burial-Places 755 

Motives 75S 

Funeral Orations and Obituary Notices . . . 159 

Vocation and Avocation 161 

Awed by Understanding 762 

Students in Particular Lines 163 

Substance of a Lecture 165 

Microscope and Camera 775 

Electricity 775 

The People did not Snore 779 

Whistling 180 

Dentistry not a Profitable Profession . . . .752 



Contents 7 

Fries Utterly Banished 183 

Fondness for Squirrels 184 

Respect for the Monkey 186 

Instinct of Satan 190 

Qualities and Faculties of the Dog 191 

Horses bred for Moral Qualities 194 

Beauty on Horseback 195 

Love for Birds 196 

Insects and Reptiles 201 

Infusoria 202 

Character and Mental Resources 203 

The Individual the Immortal 204 

Personal Independence 206 

Men wiser than Sheep 208 

Individuality Made Them Interesting 210 

The Law of Diversity . .213 

The Healthful Habit of Occupation 217 

The Vice of Indolence 218 

Probably and Perhaps 221 

A Treasure 224 

The Social Conscience 224 

Amusements 227 

The Rule of E^ra 23 1 

Drawing, Painting, and Sculpture 232 

Not Ambitious of Great Libraries 2^7 

Thoughts and Conduct 239 

The Press 240 

Results of Evolution 244 

Pride of Profession 247 



8 Contents 

The High Estimate put upon Woman .... 248 

A High Order of Wisdom 249 

How Government was Supported 25/ 

The Machinery of Politics 254 

Essential Excellence of the People 258 

Their Religion 262 

Sects and Creeds 265 

Worship 26-] 





SUB-CCELUM 

F the people of Sub-Coelum favorably 
were not happy it was their 
own fault. Their situation 
was the most favorable under 
the sun. Earth and sky smiled 
upon them. The climate was genial and 
salubrious. Extremes in temperature were 
not frequent, and atmospheric violences so 
rare as to be historical. Seasons of rain and 
seasons of drouth, to devastate and desic- 
cate, were not known. Forests of beauty 
and grandeur supplied every variety and 
quality of timber, for ornament and utility. 
Mountains of sublimity and valleys of fertil- 
ity abounded. Large streams ran by large 
towns. Lakes bordered villages and villas. 
Ocean provided cities with safe and com- 
modious havens. Gold and silver in the saver and 

i . gold. 

mountains lay in strata convenient to be 
operated. Where the land was poorest and 
least productive, the most valuable of the 



io Sub-Ccelutn 

precious metals, in nuggets, was deposited 
and in the streams of such parts the most 
Pearh and perfect of pearls, and occasionally dia 

diamonds. . . . n T , 

monds, were discovered. Happy people 
What they had not, imagination must la- 
bor to supply. Misery, to any great extent 
abode not with them. So it would appear 

abundance The ease with which life was sustained 
' left them abundance of leisure. Bent was 
indulged and tastes were gratified. Ad- 
vantages were turned to account. Not so 
much to get wealth as to acquire the art of 
living. To make the most of themselves 
and to enjoy the greatest amount of ra- 
tional pleasure was the common ambition. 
Selfishness, the one great enemy of man- 
kind, was under perpetual ban. To gain 
the mastery over themselves, by studying 
and practicing moderation, self-control, and 
humanity, was the prime object of all per- 

simpiicity sonal and organized effort. Simplicity and 

and modesty . f 

atapremi- modesty were at a premium, and self-re- 
spect and fellowship were exalted to a high 
place among the virtues. The great pur- 
pose of society was to produce genuine, 
individual, friendly men and women, and to 
surround them with all auxiliaries and facil- 
ities for growth and happiness. 



An Object of Pity 1 1 

Marked individuality was conspicuous marked 

• i 11 i • r i Individual- 

amid all the seeming contusion it created, ity. 
The great good of it was to cultivate 
mutual consideration. Toleration became 
a necessity. Inseparable from it was a 
strong pervading sense of justice. The 
right of each to be an individual man in- 
volved the right of every other to be the 
same. It encouraged diversity of view 
while it forbade dogmatical disputation. 
The possibility of mistake compelled gener- 
osity of judgment. Feeling was repressed 
and reason stimulated. The occasional The man 

. . . who was al- 

man who was always right, was an object ways right. 
of universal pity. His deficiencies were a 
study and his conceits a warning. If ill- 
natured also, Wisdom walked by him, as 
by a bad animal, and Charity guarded him 
against irritation and abuse, — curing him 
finally, if curable, — eleemosynary provision 
being made for the worst cases. 

The snarling, venomous creature, who exception- 
hated everything, and the motive-monger, sters. 
who was always finding the worst reasons 
for everybody's actions, were the excep- 
tional monsters — confounding the philo- 
sophers and the moralists. They skulked 
and they crawled, in defiance of all rules 



12 Sub-Ccelum 

and appliances, and fattened upon their 
own poisonous secretions. Every popu- 
lous neighborhood had one or more, to 
tolerate and avoid — incorrigible objects 
to even the most hopeful of reformers. 

conceit of The wonder was that such characters so 
excel- often had the conceit of superior excel- 
lence, which made them particularly inter- 
esting. They believed themselves better 
than their neighbors, while their extraor- 
dinary pretensions only made them more 
emphatically unregenerate. Seeing only 
outwardly, other people's sins exasperated 
them. Society, to them, was but an exag- 
gerated reflection of their own condition. 
Their own moral machinery being in dis- 
tressful disorder, all the world must be 
taken to pieces, mercilessly made over, or 
go to ruin. 

couples of It was the conclusion of intelligence 
that eyes, to see, must be in couples of six 

— the pigs having two. That to see in- 
deed — within and without and all around 

— eyes moral and eyes intellectual were 
as necessary as eyes physical. Education 
and conduct in Sub-Ccelum were upon that 
determination. It was never lost sight of. 



Vanity Circumspect 13 

It tended to make people reflective, con- 
siderate, and charitable. Self - estimates Seif-esti. 
were thoughtfully made, and constantly thoughtfully 

. . made. 

revised. Vanity was circumspect. It was 
discovered that the truth, absolute and 
unmitigated, is hard to arrive at : that the 
last fact is ever necessary to correct judg- 
ment : that color depends upon light : that 
good is largely in the brush, and that evil 
is never so black as malignity paints it. 

Their schools were generally small, with schools 

GENERALLY 

not much system about them. No great small. 
pains were taken to force the children, 
especially while they were little. Memory 
was respected, and not over-exerted or bur- 
dened. Processes were to develop, as far 
as practicable, consistent with healthful 
growth, the best qualities and faculties of 
individual pupils. Differences, moral and 
intellectual, were recognized and regarded. 
It was not thought possible to make all 
alike, as eggs in a basket. Classes, for classes Km- 
that reason, were limited, and specially in- * * 
structed. Teachers were chosen rather for 
character and manners than for scholar- 
ship. Thorough gentlemen and ladies were 
preferred. Influence for good was looked 
to as a prime factor. The ready imitative- 



14 Sub-Coelum 

ness of the young was made the most of. 
Good exam- Good examples were set before them — the 

pies set be- . r 

fore tium. best specimens of men and women procur- 
able. Inaccurate language was exceptional 
in the schoolroom. The common blun- 
ders were placarded on the walls. Small 
children were taught by women ; at eight 
or nine years the sexes were separated, — 
the girls to be instructed by ladies and the 
boys by gentlemen ; to give opportunity, 
little by little, of imparting and impress- 
ing in a thousand ways a thousand things 
essential to genuine manhood and woman- 
hood. To make good, intelligent, self- 
respecting men and women, fitted for self- 
government, was kept in view as the great 
object of education. 

instruc- In every part of the Commonwealth 

radical schools for all ages and both sexes were 
established, where the people were in- 
structed in radical morals, as essential to 
true religion, and inseparable from it. Per- 
sonal responsibility was inculcated. Mar- 
riage was gravely considered. The rela- 
tions of the sexes were discussed in every 
way but the trifling. The nature and 
ethics of debt were pondered and thought- 
fully illustrated. Integrity was enforced 



The Thing Necessary 13 

impressively. Honesty to the core, in all 
that it implies, was persistently urged as 
the thing of all things necessary to true 
manhood and womanhood. Prudential 
considerations were the last to be named 
in connection with it. 

Chairs of Common Sense were set up chairs of 
in the universities. Wise professors filled sense. 
them. The distinction between scholar- 
ship and usefulness was continually de- 
fined. Education was directed to its uses 
— even to the unlearning of what could not 
be applied — adapting it to the character 
and wants of each individual — anticipa- 
ting, as far as practicable, occupation and 
position in life. Boys were taught an ap- 
prehension of the diffusion and universality 
of intelligence ; that no man had it all, but 
every man a little ; that the average was 
always worthy of respectful consultation ; 
that the education of the schools was but as The educa- 
the scaffolding and tools to the builder — schools. 
bearing in mind all the time that the build- 
ing that was to endure was not made with 
hands ; that the hodman and the farm 
hand must teach him many things he must 
know ; that the classics — valuable enough 
for culture — and the maxims of philoso- 



1 6 Sub-Ccclum 

phy must give way, again and again, and 
without humiliation, to the commonest 
experience of the meanest man, whom he 
would despise, till he had fairly put his 
mind and fact to his in the conflict of 
affairs ; in fine, that he must surrender 
his self-conceit, be put upon his feet with 
the crowd, and totally unlearn and forget 
very much that he had learned, before he 
could begin to be truly sensible and wise. 
The average By such means the average wisdom came 

wisdom. 

to be respected. It was the admitted 
gauge of civilization. It appeared too slow 
to the seer and too fast to the philosopher ; 
but the prescience of the one and timidity 
of the other were not often consulted. It 
gave a sympathizing ear to the fervid 
thoughts of enthusiasts and reformers, 
cooling and utilizing them by diffusion. It 
took from the wearied eye and nerve- 
shaken hand of the inventor his invention, 
and put it to work in the fields and seas. 
Thecommon It was the common sense and the common 
Tommon law of life. It governed the Government 
and every man. It put a hope into the 
heart, and helped it to pray as well as to 
work. It fostered ideas of progression, 
which grew into system, and methodized 
thought and exertion. It made tests for 



A Means to the End ij 

formulas and platforms, and widened their 
scope and purpose to a generous breadth 
and humanity. In its providence, it cared it cared for 
for all, the little and the great, the strong a 
and the feeble. Its modes appeared level- 
ing processes, but the valleys of shadow 
were lifted up. The sun, if it did not glit- 
ter upon a promontory, warmed the plain 
to produce a generous harvest. If genius 
seemed a little crippled in its wing, it was 
by teaching it a steadier flight. If the 
hills were less beautiful by cultivation, the 
vintage was compensation. In short, schol- 
arship, less didactically and showily stated, 
was esteemed and urged, in that depart- 
ment of culture, as but a means to the end 
— peaceful and enlightened society, gov- 
erned by humane and beneficent laws : an 
Ideal Republic. 

In the schools and universities great instructed 
pains were taken to instruct in telling the the truth. 
truth. The viciousness of habitual extrav- 
agance in language was explained and il- 
lustrated. The close alliance between exag- 
geration and lying was made apparent, 
and all were made to feel their responsibil- 
ity in speech. Volubility was discouraged. 
Drilling in narration was constant and uni- 



1 8 Siib-Coelum 

versal. Facts were stated and incidents 
related to be repeated. The practice was 
amusing till the consequences showed them- 
selves to be grave. The same story, pass- 
ing through several minds and repeated 
by as many tongues, was hardly recog- 
a sober ex- nized, and the result became a sober expe- 
rience. It infixed itself in the memory. 
The dangers of careless speech, as they were 
comprehended, became startling. Habits 
of attention, therefore, and studied fidelity 
in repetition, were set down conspicuously 
among the social virtues. Truth-telling 
was impossible without them. 

Low, un. The use of low, unmeaning language was 
Language, considered an offense against intelligence 
and good-breeding, and was in every proper 
way discouraged and prohibited. Its rude- 
ness and inelegance were not the only 
objections to it : it corrupted the carefully 
guarded tongue of the people. The lan- 
guage, in thousands of years, had grown 
to be so extensive that its dictionary was 
in many ponderous volumes. The effort 
for ages had been to reduce it — to elimi- 
nate all that was obsolete and impure — 
Daring coi- daring colloquialisms even being excluded. 

loquialisms _ , . , , - . 

excluded. Enlightened men and women were known 



Conversation 19 

and rated by the purity and integrity of 
their speech ; standards of expression were standards 
high, and not to be despised ; rank was not uS^Si 
risked by careless observance. Not that 
there was any lack in freedom of utter- 
ance. Forbidding the exceptionable en- 
couraged the best. Intellect was not shorn 
of her wings. Imagination soared and 
gayety disported at will. Ideas, lighter 
than air, clothed themselves in affluent 
language. Humor gladdened and glowed 
in an easy flow of words, and wit flashed 
out in verbal splendor. 

Conversation, indeed, was cultivated converse 
and practiced ambitiously, but cautiously. v!ted. ulti 
Rude language and bad grammar were 
socially punished in emphatic ways, and 
people of good standing, making any pre- 
tensions to good - breeding and culture, 
were careful to be guiltless of them. Those 
who violated in either, whatever their schol- 
arship, were set down as vulgar and illit- 
erate. The general readiness and felicity 
were remarkable. Euphuism was rare. Euphuism 
Affectations and excesses of free expres- rm 
sion were instinctively avoided. Inborn 
taste and tact governed their intercourse. 
Gossip was high art. Trivialities were 



20 Sub-Ccelum 

adorned and illustrated in a manner to cre- 
ate and maintain interest in them. Light 
philosophy turned the smallest events to 
account, and made each one seem impor- 
tant and respectable. Habits of adapta- 
spedaities tion led them into every sort of specialty. 

of every . 

sort. Hardly anything but had its experts and 

professors. Hints from nature were real- 
ized in mechanism and art. Novelties, 
improvements, inventions, were number- 
less. Every flying and creeping thing had 
its enthusiasts and exponents. Ephemera, 
infusoria, animalculae, were classified and 
individualized, without limit. Microbes, 
bacilli, were pets of the imagination. Chil- 
dren, even, seemed familiar with the mon- 
sters of the microscope, and talked of them 
as glibly as of their playthings and the 
chemical elements. 

ingenuous- Eagerness to know seemed not to ex- 

NESS A So .... . T 

cial excel- ceed the willingness to impart. In per- 

LENCE. . ° L . ■"• 

sonal affairs, secrecy was exceptional. 
Where acuteness was universal, discovery 
was nearly inevitable. Concealment being 
next to impossible, few thought of attempt- 
ing it. Ingenuousness, perforce, became 
one of the social excellences. Autobio- 
graphical writing was in fashion. Publi- 



A Distinguishing Charm 21 

cation of such self-revelation being in vio- 
lation of the public taste, manuscripts 
accumulated in private cabinets, to be con- 
sulted only in social emergencies. Re- Reporters 
porters were everywhere respected and re * 
deferred to. It was considered squeamish 
to withhold information from them — the 
reporters themselves being trusted to judge 
of its fitness or unfitness for publication. 
They made visits from house to house, and 
it was expected that everything of general 
interest would be communicated to them. 
Cases sometimes occurred when public in- 
dignation was aroused by efforts to mis- 
inform, divert, or baffle the indispensable 
news-gatherer. 

The desire to behave well was as general behavior. 
as the desire to talk well. Politeness was 
a distinguishing charm. Manners were 
simple and easy. Stateliness was avoided. 
Offensive familiarity was scarcely known. 
Intrusion was frankly apologized for. Side- 
door visiting was not tolerated. Compli- 
ment was cultivated. To say pleasant 
things to one another was the universal The uni™ 
custom. All were gratified by praise ; 
they only wanted it to be sincere. Ful- 
some flattery was received in a way to for- 



22 Sub-Coelum 

bid a repetition of it. It was considered a 
cheapening and degradation of one's self to 
invite it, and a duty of refinement to re- 
buke it. Ladies set their faces against it. 
sarcasm Sarcasm was not often indulged, and only 
7uiged. H m ~ then between close friends. When ill-na- 
ture prompted it, it was a crime against 
the peace of society. Obliquity of every 
sort was distrusted. They had a bad opin- 
ion of the lion on account of his step. Di- 
rectness was preferred, even to the extent 
of incivility. It was a great offense to be 
called cunning or shrewd. Artifice was 
the sign of a wry mind and perverted heart. 
To say slyly what would occasion unhappi- 
ness was an outrage to justify punishment. 
Good-nature and humanity were shocked 
by it. To make others happy was the rule 
and practice ; the contrary was the rarest 
exception. Especially it was the habit to 
give the greatest encouragement to worthy 
effort. Good deeds were heartily com- 
mended. By that means young and old 
were stimulated to do their best. You 
never met a boy or a girl who had not 
Approbation received encouraging words. Approbation 
tnjvery was .^ ever y £ ace Hope was kept alive 

by it. Hearts were made human. They 
flowed together in good-fellowship. 



The Difficulty of Moderation 23 

A habit of charitable judgment had a A H A BiTOF 
refining effect upon the people. Experi- b " e a judg'- 
ence made them cautious in condemning. 
They were taught to know the limits of 
bad and good — that nobody was quite per- 
fect enough to merit deification, nor so 
utterly corrupt as to be a castaway. That 
a man must be looked at all around, within, 
by a fair light, and with a good eye, to be 
seen truly and judged justly. They were 
taught the difficulty of moderation : that if 
calm and deliberate enough to be just, they 
were almost sure to be indifferent : that 
ignorance, interests, prejudices, blinded 
their eyes, darkened their minds, and in- 
clined them to violence. If a story came 
to them derogatory of a friend or neighbor, 
they first asked themselves, Is it true ? Is 
it a natural thing for the man to do ? Is 
he capable of such an act? Deliberation Effects 0/ 

1 ,-, 1 . 1 . . , deliberation. 

made them slow in determining and cau- 
tious in accepting ; certain that the truth 
would present the matter differently. 
Hesitation made them charitable. It in- 
culcated making the most of the good and 
the least of the bad, and to hope accord- 
ingly. They were refined by generosity 
of judgment, as they were made modest by 
introspection. Epithets of derogation and 



24 Sub-C&lutn 

condemnation were rarely used. Motives 
were not closely questioned. Sincerity 
did not need to be proved. Virtue was 
not absolute. Intelligence, at best, was 
a favorite extremely limited. At sea, they said, a 

illustration. , . • r , i ,i 

person s eye being six feet above the sur- 
face of the water, his horizon is only two 
miles and four fifths distant ; yet his 
tongue will as freely wag of the world as if 
it were all spinning under his eye. We 
freely discuss the ignorance of those we 
believe to be less intelligent than ourselves, 
never thinking that we are the cause of 
like amusement to those who are more 
intelligent than we are. Fewer laugh with 
us than at us. The grades are so many 
that contrast is more natural than compari- 
son. Unfortunately, too, it is only in the 
descent that we can see, and that but a lit- 
tle way. We know it is up, up, that we 
would go ; but the rounds of the ladder are 
but vaguely visible. But a small part we 
The prodi-^ perceive of the prodigious sweep from the 
lowest ignorance to possible intelligence. 
Upon their feet with their fellows, and con- 
scious of the countless limitations to wis- 
dom and virtue, the people of Sub-Ccelum 
grew more refined and truly polite as they 
became more modest and charitable. 



gious sweep. 



Character not in the Market 25 
Their superior men and women were their su- 

,,,.,., . . , , . n perior Men 

held in high estimation, and the influence and wo- 
men. 
they exerted was everywhere apparent. 

Society in many cases seemed only a re- 
flection of them. Their high standards of 
conduct toned and tempered minds and 
hearts in remotest relations with them. 
The atmospheres they made and carried 
with them were pervasive. It was beauti- 
ful to see the respect and deference that 
was paid to them : silently and uncon- 
sciously paid, as the mimosa renders hom- 
age to a passing creature. Flatteries were Flatteries 

, , , , ,, not heaped 

not heaped upon them; the excellences upon them. 
they incarnated forbade grossness or indeli- 
cacy. The wisdom they dispensed and the 
good they did were not for compensation. 
Character was not in the market. Mere- 
triciousness did not attempt to entice, nor 
artifice to purchase. Ingenuousness was ingenuous- 
a perpetual rebuke to devices, disguises, S.* r * 
obliquities. Compliment was best paid to 
superiority by adopting whatever was pos- 
sible of preeminence. Mere ability was 
not so highly esteemed as integrity — en- 
tireness. Men who were morally sound 
— incapable of duplicity and baseness, and 
women who were genuine and pure — of 
all excellence, were objects of unconscious 



26 Sub-Ccelum 

reverence. In their lives were taught vir- 
tue, honesty, honor, humanity, charity — 
all that constitutes true manhood and wo- 
manhood. When a superior man or woman 
entered any assembly, there was always 
more or less of sensation visible in visages 
and slight movement. Such personages 
Perfietimi were perpetual surprises. They were bet- 
ter than they appeared, wiser than they 
assumed, did more than they promised, and 
were encouraging phenomena in virtue and 
humanity — examples of all that is precious 
in character. 

their So- Their social meetings were all that could 

cial Meet- , , . -, i 11 

ings. be desired to promote harmony and good- 

neighborship. They met together cor- 
dially, without awkwardness or ostentation. 
Manners were such as good sense and good 
feeling had suggested and determined. Ex- 
cited and rapid conversation, as stated, was 
not in good taste. To talk much or eagerly 
was not a common ambition. Speech was 
upon the assumed basis of general intelli- 
gence, and was supplementary or comple- 
mentary. To assume ignorance, to enlarge 
sins against pedantically, were sins against good-man - 
'%£*.' ners ; decency was offended by them. Pat- 
ronizing ways were not thought of, because 



Fashion not Omnipotent 2j 

not tolerated, — equality, for the nonce, 
being the prime condition. The happy few, 
with exceptional animal spirits and tact, 
who were able to fuse elements together, 
were acknowledged social forces : as moral Acknowi- m 
and intellectual amalgams, they were duly forces. 
appreciated ; wherever they appeared, in- 
sulation was impracticable. Whatever of 
dexterity they employed was not easily 
discernible; show of management or ma- 
nipulation would have been fatal. Fashion 
was not omnipotent, though exacting. It 
was hardly a device of ugliness to entrap 
beauty. Loveliness, in a great degree, was 
independent of it. Youth and beauty, in 
simple dresses, were conspicuous. Only 
the middle-aged and old dressed richly and 
expensively. Diamonds and gold were 
too common to be often used for personal 
adornment. Intelligence in the eye, roses 
in the cheek, charity on the tongue, were 
better than all artificialities. Figure was Better than 
displayed, but not the charms of it indeli- ciamies. 
cately. The consciously well-dressed were 
least so. Immodesty, or anything that sug- 
gested it, was not seen. Rudeness, even, 
blushed at the thought of it. Beautiful 
women were beautiful as they appeared 
pure. Deceitful enticement in the slightest 



28 Sub-Ccelum 

hicartmte made them ugly. Incarnate virtue was 

virtue ideal . .. . . . 

•womanhood, ideal womanhood. Men honored it above 
everything earthly. It was reverenced in 
their mothers, their sisters, their wives, 
their daughters ; and their treatment of all 
women was touched by the distinction. In 
their social parties both sexes of all ages 
commingled — a few children being consid- 
ered necessary to a complete company, as 
undergrowth is indispensable to a healthy 

Respect and forest. Respect and amenity characterized 
behavior and word. The young were def- 
erential to the old, and the old considerate 
of the young. Venerable ladies received 
the attentions of young men, and venerable 
gentlemen extended every politeness to 
young women. Age and youth were side 
by side in the dance and at the banquet. 
Courtliness and the small sweet courtesies 
were taught and practiced. Manhood was 
improved and womanhood exalted. Hu- 
man nature appeared best in the bright- 
est light. Pessimism, even, if it existed, 
thought it worth while to continue the 
race under hopeful conditions. 

their Flo- Not the least attractive feature of their 

RAL EXHIBI- . . . 

tions. civilization was their floral exhibitions. 
The universal taste and a generous rivalry 



Surpassing the Flowers 29 

made them frequent. Everybody attended 
them, and the enthusiasm shown was beau- 
tiful to see. Men and women had become 
famous by cultivating and propagating par- 
ticular species. Gardens of roses and gar- Gardens 0/ 
dens of pinks were everywhere. Varieties gardens of 

. pinks. 

seemed infinite. The bloom of the dande- 
lion and daisy was grown to be thrice as 
great as in the wild state. The hollyhocks 
were prodigious. The geraniums blazed in 
a marvelousness of color. Chrysanthe- 
mums of bewildering variety and beauty 
were the pride of the multitude. Tansies 
appeared living creatures. In these shows 
the best achievements in floriculture were 
brought together. The taste displayed, 
and the abounding beauty, made them 
delightful and memorable occasions. But 
more attractive than the flowers were the 
throngs of humanity that moved amongst 
them. Beauty was made more beautiful Beauty and 
and nobility more noble by being brought Trought to- 
together so auspiciously. All that was*" 
good in man and woman seemed to shine 
out in happy faces. Roses in cheeks 
bloomed with a warmth the roses in the 
gardens did not have. Expression was ani- 
mated by the enlivening scene. Beauty 
was surprised into attitudes that poet or 



30 Sub-Cortum 

Two float, painter had never witnessed. The two 
ances. ' floating radiances that appear and disap- 
pear amidst the roses ! Noiseless as spring 
sunshine and as inspiring. Blonde and 
brunette, distinct, together, and blending. 
Raven hair and golden, rippling at random 
and flowing together. Blue eyes and black, 
alternating ; confusing your fancies, like 
the changing hues of a sunset. Complex- 
ions nut-brown and alabaster, warm and 
roseate with innocency and ripeness. And 
The good the good woman of threescore who ex- 



threTs'core. changes civilities with them ! Her com- 
plexion is as clear and her face almost as 
sunny as theirs. That glistening silver 
lock must but a moment since have turned 
gray while she unconsciously twisted it. 
Her voice and smile and eyes do not an- 
swer to so much of life and vicissitude. 
The three sympathize and mingle, without 
adjustment or dissonance. Happy children 
and grave men add to the diversity of the 
occasion. What could be .more elevating, 
picturesque, or wholesome, than human in- 
tercourse under favorable auspices ? 



each Day's Each day's dinner was much of an event 
inner. » n ever y f am ji v# it came early in the after- 
noon, as the hours of labor and business 



The Family Dinner 31 

were not many. It was the rule to forget 
the cares of the day, and to put away anx- 
iety, as far as possible, in preparation for 
it. Plenty of time was taken, to fully en- 
joy it. Not that the population were espe- 
cially devoted to eating ; they looked more 
to the civilities and socialities than to the The dvui. 
indulgence of the appetite. Cleanliness SliuLs. s °' 
was particularly observed, in person and in 
table-habits. Promptness was expected of 
every one, and a careful consideration for 
the comfort and pleasure of others was 
maintained. Each one took his place, 
without eagerness or disorder. The service 
was deliberate, and in courses — chemi- 
cally right foods being served together. 
Tables were padded to limit the noise of 
dishes. Personal peculiarities of taste were Pecuiiari- 
ignored or not referred to. Noise in eat- Sw*" 
ing was scrupulously avoided. Pigs for 
that, they said, not men. Children were 
so instructed, but not at the table. Ra- 
pidity was not indulged, for the same rea- 
son. A famished manner was offensive. 
Excess in quantity also. Renletion was 
as objectionable as voracity. The dishes 
served, their costliness and preparation, 
were not elaborately discussed. Dining 
was else and more than feeding. It in- 



;?2 Sub-Ccelum 

eluded all that was civilized and generous. 
Best impulses were quickened and liveliest ; 
ideas evolved. Irony was not indulged at 
Good/eeiing the expense of good-nature. Good feeling 

requisite. . . -it i 

was requisite to a good dinner — a better 
sauce, if possible, than hunger. Words 
were not taken from others' mouths ; in- 
terruption was rudeness. Subjects intro- 
duced, as far as practicable, were elevat- 
ing, but not above the range of the average. 
Free utterance was encouraged, but not, 
as before observed, too great precipitancy 
or volubility. Discoursing, or talking in a 
lecturing way, was a violation of good ta- 
ble-manners. That every one might have 
due opportunity of participating, anything 
like monopoly, if indulged, was jealously 
children en- restricted. Children were encouraged to 
a full share in conversation. Occasion, in- 
deed, was often made to give them promi- 
nence — self-instruction being an ulterior 
purpose. Birthdays of distinguished men 
and women were selected for their special 
benefit. A little better dinner than usual 
was provided, an extra dish or an additional 
course being sufficient. A suitable guest 
was selected to partake, and to put all upon 
their good behavior. The children were 
expected to lead on these anniversaries. 



Cooking in Sub-Ccelum 33 

Ample time was given them for prepara- 
tion. Dictionaries, cyclopaedias, and bio- 
graphies were consulted for facts and inci- 
dents. Each one was depended upon to 
contribute an anecdote or interesting fact. 
Contemporaneous history was recalled. 
Lessons in philosophy and conduct were Lessens sug- 
suggested. The good in the several chax- ge5te ' 
acters considered was brought out exem- 
plarily, and the bad referred to in admoni- 
tion. The great and excellent in life and 
literature were thus studied and kept in 
memory. All were made to think, and to 
grow in enlightenment. The children espe- 
cially were helped and stimulated in self- 
education. 

Cooking was a proud art in Sub-Ccelum, cooking a 
and was carried to great perfection. Still 
they experimented, and their best results 
were from time to time announced in gas- 
tronomic journals. The invention of a new 
dish gave distinction, next to the discov- 
ery of a new planet. Chemistry was so 
persistently and ingeniously applied that 
kitchens became laboratories. Bad cook- 
ing was a sin, and brought shame upon the 
sinner. This extraordinary interest in the 
art was due in great part to the prevailing 



34 Sub-Ccelutn 

Momis a,id opinion that morals largely were emana- 
tions of the stomach, and that men were 
good and healthy as they were well fed. 
Curious and wonderful instances were 
collected in proof. Crimes were traced to 
bad breakfasts, as benefactions were to 
good dinners. The philosophic cook ac- 
counted for conduct as he did for complex- 
ions. Roses in cheeks told their history. 

saiummess Sallowness was a reproach, and was very 

a reproach. 

rare. The shades of melancholy appeared 
in few faces. It was the general belief 
that most diseases were caused by bad or 
ill-cooked food, and that few of them that 
were remediable would not yield to right 
diet. The doctor often, before writing his 
prescription, questioned the economy of 
the kitchen. The priest, before consola- 
tion or absolution, did the same. Courts, 
in the trial of criminals, directed similar 
inquiry, and extenuation or commutation 
was often a result of it. Law-makers were 
indebted to cooks for suggestions. Moral- 
ists were liberal as they were gastronomi- 
cally wise. Pork was held accountable for 
Roast pig. much that was bad in the world, roast pig 
excepted. The young of swine, something 
heavier than a full-grown capon, were 
objects upon which genius expended it- 



The Custard Apple 35 

self. The sweet juices thereof reached the 
sources of sense, and remained in the 
mind as on the palate, inclining it to gen- 
erous reflection. Fish, too, the particular Fish. 
food of the brain, employed and exhausted 
the possibilities of kitchen science. Never 
a drop of water entered into one of the 
finny tribe after the knife had done its 
office. The natural juices were all pre- 
served — every particle. Banquets exclu- 
sively of fish, with ichthyological pictures 
all round, were not uncommon events. 
Symposia they were of wit and eloquence. 
Bread-making was carried to great perfec- Bread. 
tion. Loaves were congeries of sweet ma mg ' 
crystals. The light shone through them. 
They were marvelous. Common articles 
were made wondrously palatable by the 
manner in which they were cooked and 
served. Fruits especially were temptingly 
presented. The papaw, the North Ameri- The /«m 
can custard apple, was a favorite of the 
people. It was sedulously cultivated, and 
was considered excellent above all other 
fruit. Ripening upon the tree, and falling 
upon the leaves, it caught a taste of earth 
and heaven that was ambrosial. It was 
the supreme delicacy, and was daintily 
eaten. Nothing so palatable, they said ; 



36 Sub-Ccelum 

certainly nothing uncooked. An appropri- 
ately artistic dish received it. The knife 
to lay off its skin was set in diamonds. 
The spoon to eat it with was of purest gold, 
a bit at a of delicate and exquisite workmanship. A 

time enough. , . . .. 

bit at a time was enough, every atom of 
which rose to the sensorium. A half an 
hour was considered too short a period to 
linger over this achievement of nature — 
her one inimitable, unsurpassable custard. 
The beautiful orchards of this Fruit of 
Paradise were the triumph and pride of 
pomology. 

their good The people, being highly intelligent, re- 
' quired the best of physicians. A little 
smattering and a great deal of pretension 
would not do. Ignorance, that presumed 
to exercise important functions, was held 
to be criminal. When exposed, it became 
an object of public reproach. It might 
trifle with anything but human life and not 
be declared odious ; but when poor human 
bodies were subjected to merest empiri- 
cism, the public sense and the public con- 
science revolted. It was understood that 
the more knowledge the physician had, the 
better fitted he was for his profession. No 
man, in their judgment, could know too 



The Human Machine $y 

much to be a good doctor. There was, 
they knew, no end to the knowledge appli- 
cable to the treatment of disease. The 
physician was not expected to perform 
miracles, as the world had grown too wise 
to expect the miraculous! The human ma- 
chine was admitted to be frail, and destined 
to go to pieces. The house of clay was The house of 
only to be kept in such repair as to be ° y ' 
presentable and comfortably habitable till 
abandoned. It was not made to resist 
earthquakes nor time. Only the every- 
day storms and ills were to be averted or 
cured. The one great shock or poison, 
which shatters or rots the structure, the 
wisest could not forefend nor baffle. Thera- 
peutics could not be so exact as anatomy. 
With the aid of anaesthetics, the medical 
carpenter might cut and saw his poor fel- 
low with certainty. But the many influ- influences of 

. . . climate, ap- 

ences of climate, appetite, and passion petite, and 

passion. 

upon human bodies, as varied by predispo- 
sitions, habits, and ambitions as they were 
numerous, were admitted to be past find- 
ing out mathematically, and too often were 
only to be guessed at, as the turns of the 
market, or the whims of insanity. Sin- 
cere, and devoted to his calling — carry- 
ing conscience into it as well as intelli- 



38 Sub-Ccelum 

gence — the physician was not expected 

to accommodate himself to pretenses nor 

a pro/es- whims. A professional call meant sober 

sio?uil call i i i • r i -in 

meant sober business, and his sense of duty commanded 

business. , T r . , , , . 

candor. If indolence, or indulgence, or 
vice were the cause of ailment, he frankly 
announced and characterized it. The cher- 
ished habits, appetites, or desires must be 
abandoned before he could begin a cure 
of their results. Describing their effects 
upon the body, he did not suggest their 
blighting consequences upon the character. 
That, he considerately left to the curer of 
souls — the clergyman or the priest. 

the quack Time was, even in Sub-Ccelum, when 
contrast! the quack doctor — the empiric, the char- 
latan, the pretender — was in fashion. To 
appearances he was most considerate and 
respectful, while with the real he made 
merchandise. A large proportion, and the 
most substantial, of his patients, were only 
growing old, but they submitted to be 
drugged and drugged, rather than to be 
told the wholesome truth. The slight 
weaknesses and aches, as natural as gray 
hairs and dim eyesight, pride of life and 
Dignified the pretender's arts dignified into illnesses. 
. ^^- n i oc k s an( j spectacles were natural 



Wise Prescriptions 39 

enough, and well enough, and becoming ; 
but flattening muscles and cooling circula- 
tion were results of over-work or impru- 
dence, and might be restored to roundness 
and comfortable temperature. The doc- 
tor's wise prescription was higher living 
and heavier woolens, with powders and Heavier 

woolens. 

drops now and then as alteratives and 
tonics, and just soon enough, to a visit, he 
conducted the case to a favorable issue. 
The air of another clime was recommended 
if his patient's patience seemed failing, or 
if, as the real case might be, the ill-judg- 
ment of a stubborn husband was to be cor- 
rected. Many of his patients who were 
given to gayety and irregular hours, who 
were too frail to bear children, his mere 
hint of the fact was of profit to the mon- 
ster in a palace, whose specialty was such 
cases. Expressionless eyes and dullness 
contrasted with beauty and thin dresses, 
and stimulants in every form were sug- 
gested to supply the needed lustre and 
sprightliness, and complete the harmony. 
Small potions at first were sufficient ; and smaiipo- 
if gradual increase of quantity resulted 
unfortunately, the misfortune was disease, 
to be treated by a still further increase of 
the cause as a remedy. If the public voice 



40 Sub-Coelum 

crime in was silenced by the presence of crime in 

many house- . i i i • r i -it 

holds. so many households ; if brothels sprang up 
palatially in desirable streets ; if hospitals 
multiplied to exhaust the public purse ; the 
fashionable doctor, who was the genius and 
patron of them all, was secure in his fame 
and opulence. Long, long since, the peo- 
ple of Sub-Ccelum had grown too wise and 
excellent to tolerate such an embodiment 
of insincerity and artfulness. They pre- 
ferred conscience and candor in their phy- 
sicians, and profited by them in body and 
in spirit. 

The cler- Time was, also, when the clergy of Sub- 
Selum. ub " Ccelum were not all that they might have 
been. Too many of them had grown 
worldly and time-serving. The occupant 
of the carved pulpit, it was said, whose 
wants were only imaginary, knelt upon 
cushions of velvet, and thanked gracious 
Heaven for having made the circumstances 
of all mankind so extremely happy. Mate- 
rial demands upon him having been paid 
by checks on his banker, he was profoundly 
ignorant <?/ ignorant of the shifts of the multitude. 

the multi- TT _ . ... 

ttide. Here and there, in pews nearest the pulpit, 

reposed, in fresh raiment and elegance, rep- 
resentatives of every institution of finance 



Knew the World 41 

and commerce ; and their joint possessions 
impressed him with the fullness of benefi- 
cence. To illustrate his theme, he was not Not limited 

•,..,,. . , to average 

limited to average experience, but was experience. 
expected to range beyond and above it. 
He was understood to know the world in 
an enlarged way ; and if his figures or ex- 
amples suggested the successes or power 
of certain of his hearers, their complacency 
was stimulated if their hearts were not 
softened. He was not to shock by an ex- 
posure of subtlety which circumvented, or 
combination which oppressed, but to soothe 
by a glittering exhibition of ends and at- 
tainments. The possession of money, in 
whatever prodigious quantity, was not to 
be questioned, but only the love of it. A Love of 
little ingenuity would comfort the posses- ™ oney ' 
sor by suggesting his expenditures, and 
make him as conspicuous in the sanctuary 
as his equipage made him in the avenue. 
His thoughts were especially pitched to 
the ears of those he besought, to whom he 
owed all, and from whom he expected even 
more. Their courtly presence he had en- 
joyed till their moral atmosphere had be- 
come his own, and his passions flowed 
much in the same current with theirs. 
Once a year the Golden Rule was dwelt nu%. 



42 



Sub-Ccelum 



Honor the 
rule. 



upon, to harmonize and conciliate commer- 
cial niceties. Refinement and specious- 
ness might display themselves upon so 
sober a generality. If not a vague abstrac- 
tion, it might be only relative in its appli- 
cation to life, as honesty in the common 
sense was not integrity. Honor was the 
practicable and necessary rule. The specu- 
lator might have it, and trade by it, though 
his ingenuous friend be ruined by his 
scheme. Thief he might morally be, and 
a beggar his dupe, but the contract must 
be fulfilled, and justice indorse it. As the 
ethics to govern in the settlement between 
man and his Maker, with character only in 
judgment, the Golden Rule was unques- 
tionable, but not in the court of the money- 
changers, where honor alone gilded the 
edges of promises. With the motives of 
the heart God must deal. Man must have 
his due. He was a pretty preacher for 
His manner moved them 
like the bursting spring. His similes were 
of buds, and blossoms, and fresh verdure. 
His soft words and gentle gestures win- 
nowed fragrance. His accuracy and vari- 
ety of taste made him a connoisseur in 
everything pertaining to colors and fabrics. 
At home everywhere where there was ele- 



A pretty 
preacher for 

yolmg people, young people. 



Artist and Arbiter 43 

gance, contrasts and harmonies had trained 
him to refinement of observation, and he 
was at once the artist and arbiter in per- 
plexity. As a relaxation from labor, and 
to gather resources for the entertainment 
and instruction of his people, he had trav- 
eled the world, and seen edifices, and pic- 
tures, and costumes, and his perception of hu tercep. 
effects was acute and unerring. His in- effects. 
dorsement of the style of a house, or the 
beauty of a landscape, or the trimming of 
a gown, was assurance of grandeur, or har- 
mony, or tastefulness. His ethics in the 
pulpit and aesthetics in the drawing-room 
were alike acceptable and infallible. De- 
grees of future happiness, he believed, 
would be determined by development. 
Bliss was only relative. Enjoyment, as a 
rule, was measured by capacity, and incon- 
gruity would mar heaven. His theory of 
fitness and likes solved eternal justice and 
harmony. 

Ages had passed since clergymen of that clergymen 
character had been seen in the pulpit. Ex- character 

. Extinct. 

tmct, they were read about as strange curi- 
osities, and the people were amazed at the 
moral standards of their ancestors. That 
the materialities had governed them to 



44 Sub-Coelum 

such an unlimited extent was marvelous. 
a religion They could not comprehend that a religion 

of Mammon. . . . . _ . 

of Mammon had ever existed in their iair 
land. The conditions of society had com- 
pletely changed, and their views of wor- 
ship had changed with them. Wealth be- 
ing diffused, other standards of excellence 
and conduct had been established. Men 
who counted their wealth by millions were 
not known amongst them. Churches were 
not built and maintained by the prosperous 
only. One class was as conspicuous in 
their management as another, and each 
contributed its full share to supporting 
them. In their clergymen, purity above 
all things was a requisite. The preacher 
must first be a thoroughly honest man, be- 
yond even the suspicion of duplicity or dis- 
simulation — faithful to all of his vows. His 
relations with society must be absolutely 
a vkeger- immaculate. A vicegerent of God, he was 

ento/God. . . . 

not for a moment to forget the responsibil- 
ities of his office. He must be utterly in- 
capable of soothing the conscience to sleep 
by noxious sympathy or advice ; of extenu- 
ating any corrupting desire ; of concealing 
any wholesome truth ; of excusing hypoc- 
risy in any of its multiplied forms ; of coun- 
tenancing philosophies to flatter worldli- 



Educated as a Physician 45 

ness ; of confusing worship with ceremony ; 
of courting power, or forgetting to enforce 
its accountability : of helping to degrade integrity 

, , , r ■ , ™t to be de- 

integrity to the standard 01 commercial graded. 
honor ; of exalting money, or disregarding 
improper means of obtaining it ; of encour- 
aging wine and denouncing drunkenness ; 
of extolling prodigality and deploring bank- 
ruptcy ; of magnifying costly raiment and 
bewailing demoralization ; of cautioning 
youth, with only manhood, against mar- 
riage, and warning him of the strange wo- 
man ; in a word, he was continually and 
persistently to set his face, and exert the 
utmost of his personal and official influ- 
ence, against everything corrupting or de- 
grading to man or woman. Not that \lz Not that he 
was to be harsh or hard to any human harsh or 
creature. That he might be generous in 
his judgments, and sympathizing towards 
weaknesses, he was required to be thor- 
oughly educated as a physician before en- 
tering upon his sacerdotal office. Moral 
ailments of every kind would present them- 
selves to him, and he must be as capable 
as possible of treating them. To account 
for mental diseases he must know bodily 
derangements. Body and mind were to be Body and 
considered one and inseparable. The in- "** 



46 Sub-Coelum 

terdependence was not to be forgotten. 
Inheritance lessened accountability : the 
Maker only knew to what extent. The 

standards preacher did not set up standards of con- 
duct unattainable by himself or any of his 
hearers. He did not turn the key of heaven 
against himself and all mankind. He did 
not preach an empty heaven. He believed 
that no man was so bad but that there 
might be some good in him, and that no 
man was so good but that he might be bet- 

Thegood ter. The differences between the good and 
' the bad, which, at first blush, appeared to 
him so great, as he knew more of man and 
men — more of the weaknesses and dis- 
tresses and ignorances of his fellows — 
seemed less and less to him ; and he re- 
flected how, in the eye of the Maker, who 
knows everything of every one of His crea- 
tures — every besetment and every infirm- 
ity — how impossible, with all his efforts, 
to accomplish very much — how next to 
impossible to use at all his imperfectly 
developed wings — the good and the bad 

pitifully must appear pitifully alike, if not the same. 

"yeofjhe His learning, observation, introspection, 
and reflection made him charitable. His 
religion was love. Hence the typical 
preacher of Sub-Ccelum. 



Maker. 



The Devil's Confessional 47 

Time was, too, when the lawyer's office the law- 
was named the devil's confessional. What- fice. 
ever it was in fact, the low tone of morals 
was responsible for it. The long continued 
universal greediness in money-getting had 
debauched the public conscience, until 
integrity had come to be of inconsiderable 
importance in the market. Lying was 
excused as a necessity. Adulteration was 
not a crime. Duplicity had no bad name. 
Shrewdness was a virtue. Villainy was 
not such when it succeeded. Being found 
out was the dread and devil of the popula- 
tion. Concealment was studied as a refine- 
ment in business, and craft was exalted to cra/tex- 
a chief place with wisdom. Straightfor- a 
ward ways were at a discount. Honest 
poor men had no fair chance. In the com- 
binations they were left out. The carcass 
was appropriated, leaving only the bones. 
Vast schemes were but conspiracies, — 
powerful enough to suborn, if they did not 
crush. Pettifoggers of every grade were 
their instruments. Rodents sometimes in 
their processes — angels of light at others. 
Bold enough to assault or corrupt at the Bold enough 
top, base enough to undermine at the bot- co^tpl 
torn. Weaknesses and tastes and ambi- 
tions were estimated as commodities, and 



48 Sub-Ccelum 

prices put upon them. Great interests at 
stake, equivalents corresponded, in money 
or advancement. Great attorneys were 
Mean and found to employ mean and bold arts in 
high places. If they failed at one time 
they waited for a better. A new trial 
was had, and the indispensable testimony 
was supplied. The courts being reputed 
corrupt, corrupters had full employment. 
Honest lawyers were forced to low fees and 
a low station. The determination to do 
right consigned them to poverty. Judges 
were welcomed in disreputable and doubt- 
ful places. They were shown the way to 
great bargains. They enjoyed the chances 
of great gain without pecuniary risk. They 
were in the councils of conspirators. They 
sailed the dizzying maelstrom of fashion, 
and moved omnipotently in the mysteries 
of markets and corporations. 

a turn was These things could not continue and 
slow E ly BUT society exist. A turn was made, but 
slowly. The flesh was ready to fall off the 
bones. Constitutional remedies were ap- 
plied. Little by little the moral sense was 
elevated. Eyes were gradually opened to 
the danger. New standards were set up. 
Reformation began at the bottom — the 



Mammon Dethroned 49 

foundation of the social structure — and 
worked upward as the corrupted tissues 
would bear. Better blood came with bet- Better biood 
ter morals. Conduct found higher aims, morals. 
Money was no longer the standard of 
excellence, nor wealth the omnipotent dis- 
tinction. Intellect and purity no longer 
submitted to be graded, averaged, and 
appropriated. The virtues were at a pre- 
mium. Honest poverty ranked with com- 
fortable competency. Mammon was de- 
throned, and not a god. All this did get 
done, but it took ages to do it. The devil 
fought desperately for his advantages, but 
was routed, in person, — his creatures re- 
maining in the trenches to make a show 
of resistance to virtue ever and ever. The 
corrupt judges had to go, with the hypo- 
critical priests. They died hard, but they 
died dead. Intrenched as they were by 
their evil practices, society at large felt a 
throe of relief at their final discomfiture, 
notwithstanding the many who suffered by 
it in their interests and occupations. The The vice 0/ 
vice of courts had poisoned the streams of cour s ' 
trade to such an extent that traders traded 
with vicious impunity, confident, if found 
out, that the same vicious means would 
save them from disgrace, if not from punish- 



jo Sub-Ccelum 

The /> rice of ment. The price of protection was graded 

protection. . * ° . 

to every depth of purse. 1 he petty thief 
felt as secure as the great swindler. For 
a consideration the jury could be made to 
please him. His attorney would attend to 
that as to everything indispensable. All 
was made easy to him by the laws, framed 
by lawyers — they seemed indeed to have 
been made for his special protection. 



effects of When the change began in the public 
Change, morals, attorneys became more or less 
objects of suspicion. In time, it became 
possible to disbar them for dishonest prac- 
tices. Before being admitted to practice, 
their characters were scrutinizingly exam- 
ined — integrity being held of greater im- 
portance than legal learning. Conversa- 
tions with judges about cases, outside of 
courts, ceased to be common. Every word 
addressed to a judge by suitor or attorney 
must be in open session, — in a voice to be 
heard by every bystander. A violation of 
this rule was an offense against the dignity 
of justice, and was punishable. Desire to 
be a juror was proof of incompetency. No 
intelligence panel was completed without inquiry as to 
'i°mted crim ' that ; nor was intelligence discriminated 
against. Lawyers were no longer preferred 



The Judiciary 5/ 

for lawmakers ; when chosen to legisla- 
tive assemblies, they were of conspicuously 
high character. The judiciary was jealously judges 
guarded. Judges were elected for long pe- e iongper%ds. 
riods. Solicitation disqualified them, even 
for being candidates. Names of persons 
suggested for judicial offices were published 
for a time in separate lists, and each one 
was carefully canvassed by the public. If 
any serious moral defect was discovered, 
the possessor of it was declared ineligible, 
and unfit to be voted for. Legal ability 
was duly considered, but not to the same 
extent as personal incorruptibility. The 
trouble with society had been that in a 
general way too great a disproportion had 
existed between those intelligent enough 
for places of trust and those possessing 
the essential moral qualities. Honesty and Honesty and 

. purity pre- 

punty, consequently, came to be necessary requisites. 
and absolute prerequisites to the judicial 
office. Judges must be non-residents ; in 
other words, they were required to sit in 
districts other than those in which they 
were elected. The population would not 
tolerate resident judges. They were 
thought to be too familiar with the people 
and their affairs, and apt to be warped in 
their judgments. Strangers were preferred, 



Strangers 
preferred. 



5 2 



Siib-Coelum 



who knew nothing of society or its influ- 
ences. From their places on the bench 
they did not look down upon suitors whom 
they knew intimately, and whose interests 
they could scarcely judge of impartially. 
Only blind Justice could hold the scales 
evenly ; Mercy was an independent power, 
and must be consulted apart. At that 
court, eyes and ears were ever open to the 
tears and appeals of humanity. 



Arbitra- 
tion. 



Scope and 
freedom- 
allowed. 



By arbitration was a favorite mode of 
adjusting most of their difficulties. Ad- 
justment being necessary, the most direct 
way to it was chosen. Advantages were 
gained by it. Delay was avoided and ex- 
pense saved. Anxiety was reduced to the 
minimum. Time was not allowed to deepen 
distrust into hatred. The peace of society 
depended upon the promptness and thor- 
oughness with which differences were set- 
tled. Business difficulties were adjusted 
by business men. Parties tried their own 
cases. If the laws of evidence were some- 
times relaxed or overlooked, it was to give 
those most interested greater opportunities 
to show themselves. In the scope and 
freedom allowed, arbitrators saw behind 
the faces of transactions and suitors. Igno- 



Public Advisers 53 

ranee was enlightened and malice disarmed 
by the clash of interests and passions. Mo- 
tives dropped their disguises, and truth was 
conspicuous. Unconsciously, often, the 
sources of trouble were exposed in a way 
to make adjustment easy and unquestion- 
able. 

Advice offices, here and there, through- advice 
out society, were established. There was 
use for them, and they were freely used 
by the people. They were sanctioned and 
protected as were other places of business. 
Men of good sense and of good health 
were the counselors — astute of observa- 
tion, and sagacious in the ways of the 
world. Stupid people, and people of ques- 
tionable character, were not tolerated in 
the office. Advisers were generally well- 
to-do persons, and charitably disposed. 
To relieve and help in common extremities 
was their sworn duty. Fees were entirely Fees 

. .. voluntary 

voluntary. A misuse of the generous li- 
cense given them was visited with prompt 
condemnation by the public. The office 
of a public adviser was held in sacredness 
next to the cloister of a priest. Poor men 
and women who did not see their way 
clear to invade the latter were accommo- 



54 Sub-Ccelum 

dated in the former. They were shown 
the way out of ordinary trouble, and en- 
couraged to better progress. They were 
warned of the consequences of evil habits. 

industry Industry was inculcated, and frugality. 

and ' Self-dependence was impressed upon them. 

fnip'ci lity * 

The pleasure of vice and pain of virtue 
were set down to ignorance. If their 
troubles were of a business nature, they 
were advised to arbitrate them. If a dis- 
eased condition of body or mind showed 
itself, they were recommended to the phy- 
sician. All who came were encouraged to 
attend the Public Schools of Morals, and 
be taught the foundations of good conduct. 
The clergyman was recommended, or the 
priest, in peculiar distresses of the soul. 

laws few Laws were few in Sub-Ccelum. Such as 

in Sub- . . 

ccelum. existed were necessary, and were strictly 
enforced. Their book of statutes was com- 
paratively a diminutive volume, and there 
was not a dead one in it. The people did 
not need to be much governed — in the 
main, they governed themselves. Expe- 
rience had taught them that laws easily 
executed were hardly necessary, and that 
those which could not be enforced were 
worse than useless — they were vicious. 



Self-Enacted and Inevitable 55 

Such legislation as was indispensable was, 
in a sense, self-enacted and inevitable ; — 
in other words, was so generally required 
as scarcely to be disapproved. Before en- 
acting a law, lawmakers inquired, Can it Law. 
be enforced ? Is society ready for it ? inquiries. 
They did not think that men could be made 
temperate and virtuous, or women chaste, 
by statute. Moral power was considered 
a better force than the most efficient con- 
stabulary. The disposition or desire to do 
wrong was before all prohibitory enactment. 
If that existed generally, a small minority 
were powerless to punish its consequences. 
Penal legislation, with that view, was not 
difficult — it was but the spontaneous ex- 
pression of the multitude. The difficulty 
had been that Government had attempted 
the impossible — making itself ridiculous 
by empiricism. The people became weary weary?/ 
of chimerical experiments — of all efforts expert- 
to adapt them to imaginary, super-celestial 
conditions. They were not to be made 
over violently. The tiger's tooth was not 
to be eliminated in a generation ; the slow 
processes of breeding and gentleness could 
only be counted upon in anything so radi- 
cal. The habit of resisting evil was found 
better than all threatened reformation. 



56 Sub-Ccelum 

For thousands of ages Sub-Coelum had 
been a part of the inhabited universe, and 
had grown to be what it was by the slow- 
Theciaw est progress. The claw was yet in the soft 
soft paw. paw, and was not to be torn away forcibly. 
Savagery was not out of sight in their civ- 
ilization. Their laws were mostly to assist 
voluntary efforts in right directions. To 
aid, and not to compel, was their prime 
object. The edifice of their polity was of 
composite construction, wherein by degrees 
were appropriated and incorporated such 
elements as had been proven necessary to 
the safety and permanency of the struc- 
ture. Ages had gone by since the people 
had tolerated empiricism or charlatanry in 
government. They would not be tinkered 
with or unduly agitated. Repose they es- 
teemed a prerequisite to healthy growth. 
They discouraged the spasmodic, and were 
not ambitious of an interesting history. 
Health and genuineness and purity, in 
their judgment, were not turbulent or the- 
atrical attributes. The universe made no 
noise. 



special Special reformers were not in favor ; in- 

Reformers ... r i «-. 

not in deed, there were few of them. Society 
was so individualized that there did not 



Diseased in Some Way 57 

seem to be use for them. Such as there 
were, for one reason or another, were dis- 
trusted. It was observed that too often 
the evil they meant to correct was more in 
themselves than in others. In some way, 
from some cause, they were diseased, and 
the reforming spirit was a result of their The reform. 
condition. Healthy persons did not ex- rfsJitZ} a 

-.,.. •-ni i i -it their ccmdi- 

hibit it. Only where the body was pecu- Hon. 
liarly afflicted, deficient, or deformed, or 
the mind had lost its nice balance, was this 
uneasy tendency inclined to show itself 
conspicuously. Reasoning from the spe- 
cial to the general, they concluded all to be 
in their own condition. The morbidity or 
painful self-consciousness that distressed 
themselves they believed to be pervading. 
The common effect was to excite pity in 
the sound of mind and body, and to sug- suggesting 
gest the propriety of guardianship over ship. 
them. Narrower and narrower they be- 
came as they traversed their remorselessly 
strait and ever - narrowing path. Their 
own standards must be the standards of 
the universe or the universe was all wrong. 
As Philosophy said, they neglected their 
own fields, and went to weed the fields of 
others. Also, that Virtue did not take 
pupils ; she contented herself with sowing 



5# Sub-Ccelum 

Goodness the seeds of goodness, certain that expe- 
Vnce* ' l ~ rience would make them grow. It was 
observed that where a disagreeable or 
unsightly deformity existed in the body, 
an answering one was apt to show itself 
in the character or spirit. Perpetual con- 
sciousness of it occasioned diseased sensi- 
bility, and excited a feeling of separation 
if not antagonism. Never forgetting it for 
a moment, they naturally misapprehended 
everybody about them. 

effect The pervading individuality, as said 



OF THE 



pervading before, made men distrustful of radical 

Individual- . . ... 

ity. reformers, as introspection made them 

wisely observant and generous. It did 
not incline them to make others over, or 
to have it done. Self-reformation was a 
natural effect of it — the kind they thought 
to be, of all others, the most genuine and 
permanent. It led to special investigation 
rather than to general reformation. It 
disinclined them to be organized into 
parties — to be merged into multitudes. 

They moved When they moved, they moved not exactly 

not in mobs. , T , , • , -i 

in mobs. Leadership was temporary, and 
only when necessary. Then, they did not 
follow as sheep. They did not study to 
conceal their personal traits ; only to train 



A King Each One 59 

them to usefulness and agreeableness. 
They were not made to bore, to offend, 
or to bully, but to make the possessor of 
them more interesting and serviceable. 
Their language was not for concealment Language 

i r • »-r>i 1 -i not for cou- 

but for expression. They meant that what- ceaimem. 
ever was peculiar in their nature should 
not be hidden, but laid open, and turned to 
account. A certain sacredness was made 
to attach to it accordingly, as contradis- 
tinguishing each individual. He was made 
to do something, and to do it better than 
could any other. Men were not so much 
mysteries to each other as wonders. Each 
one stood forth a man, different from all 
other men. Recognition begot respect. 
Men were not to be compounded or melted 
into masses. A king each one, he was re- 
spected in his sovereignty — over himself. 

Their police system was inseparable from their 

, . . t. 1 , Police 

their society as organized. It pervaded system. 
and permeated every part of it. Every 
individual and family and organization was 
exposed to it. In truth, there was little of 
what might be called private life in the 
entire Commonwealth. The habits of the 
people discouraged if they did not forbid 
privacy. Their remarkable individualism, 



6o 



Sitb-Ccelum 



Mind and 

conduct 

reading. 



Motive- 
mongers in 
ill-repute. 



ingenuousness, and perception — almost 
prescience — revealed all and saw all. 
Mind and conduct reading had reached 
such perfection that wrong-doing was 
nearly impossible. Blinds at doors and 
windows were not so much to elude obser- 
vation as to exclude and regulate the light. 
Language, as before stated, was for expres- 
sion, not for concealment or dissimulation. 
Masks of any sort only invited inspection. 
Faculties were sharpened by them to mi- 
croscopic accuracy. Utmost apparent can- 
dor was often more deceptive, as motive- 
mongers, in the ordinary way, were in 
ill-repute. People were expected to be 
truthful. Falsehood was in violation of all 
their training. Truth was at the basis of 
their practical religion. Their morals re- 
acted on their bodies. They lived to great 
age in consequence. By the mere power of 
enlightened will it seemed they lived or 
died at pleasure. Disease was prevented 
by foresight, inoculation, or vaccination. 
Parents, when they punished their children, 
were particular at the same time to punish 
The fatality themselves : — recognizing the fatality of 

of heredity. ' & ° J . 

heredity — the responsibility of paternity 
— that the child did not beget itself. Only 
murder was punishable by death. Breach 



Means of Protection 61 

of trust, ranking next in criminality, was 
punished with great severity. For third 
offenses, of any serious character, impris- Penalty 
onment for life was the penalty, that $£%? 
society might be protected, and children 
be not begotten by incorrigible criminals. 
The sins of lust were especially punished, 
as being radically demoralizing. The face 
of meretriciousness was not only a warning 
to the police ; it was sadly shocking to de- 
cency and the moral sense ; and admon- 
ished special guardians of the social super- 
structure to look well to the foundations. 
Purity, of all things, was most jealously p U ru y 
guarded. The incorrigibly impure were£w*i 
locked up forever. Men and women, as to 
that, were treated alike by the police and 
by the courts. If society was to continue 
to exist, and grow in essential excellence, 
chastity must be increasingly recognized 
as the crowning virtue. Education, expe- 
rience, hope, all inculcated it. The regu- 
lations of society were such that many op- 
portunities for crime did not exist. The The bad 
bad were found out, and thwarted in their out. 
evil purposes. Persons removing from one 
part of the country to another were re- 
quired publicly to announce and register 
the same, with the causes thereof; and 



62 Sub-Ccelum 

those removing into a new community 
were also required to state and record in 
the same public manner the cause or causes 
change of which prompted their change of abode ; at 
the same time and in the same way, to 
give a history of themselves — their occu- 
pations, purposes, circumstances — every- 
thing, in fact, in which the people were 
understood to be interested. As little as 
possible was left to curiosity or doubt. 
Men and women were known and read by 
all. Places in society, in a measure, were 
self-assigned. It was not possible for any 
one to be far deceived. Self-regulation 
was a large part of the business of society. 
Police officers had little to do : about all 
was done for them. Personality and con- 
duct stood out so conspicuously and sig- 
nificantly as to make official interference 
only occasionally necessary. 

estates Estates were generally small in Sub-Cce- 

LlMITED. . ■ 1 1 i 

lum. Great wealth was not considered de- 
sirable, and was discouraged by the popu- 
lation in every way that was proper and 
neighborly. It gave distinction not in 
harmony with their established system of 
government. Only the utmost equality 
was thought to be consistent with pure 



Responsibility of Prosperity 6} 

democracy. This central principle was 
never lost sight of in all their legislation 
and social regulations. The spirit of agra- 
rianism did not show itself amongst them : 
their singular integrity repressed it. Pub- Thehirden 
lic opinion rather than the law fixed the erty. 
burden upon property worthily, and rich 
people realized and accepted it. It was 
but the price and responsibility of pros- 
perity. Beyond a certain limit they were 
taught to hold their property in trust for 
the benefit of the public, and of individuals 
less prosperous than themselves. They 
distinguished themselves by their generos- 
ity. Their benefactions made them popu- 
lar as well as famous. Hospitals were built 
by them. They busied themselves quietly 
in searching out misfortune and relieving 
it. They made humanity and self-sacri- Humanity 
fice fashionable, but not ostentatiously so. sacrifice 
The good they did was by few words, and 
not by formal announcement. It showed 
itself rather in results. Wealth did not 
array itself offensively to simple livers. 
Socially, it kept within the average. Their 
banquets were not insulting in their splen- 
dor. They did not endanger pedestrians 
with their hurrying equipages. Their ad- 
vantages were not aggressive. It appeared 



64 Sitb-Coehim 

a noble thing to enjoy opulence in a right 

way. Envy was not disturbed nor hatred 

awakened by its privileges and pleasures. 

The virtues The virtues were common possessions, and 

common , t 

Possessions, disported themselves, in a sense, in palaces 
as in cottages. Money, in itself, did not 
give honorable celebrity. Distinctions of 
God gave greatest prominence and emi- 
nence. A man might be great, without 
skill to advance himself, or cash to help 
his fellow. The riches of heart and intel- 
lect enjoyed just estimation. 

property The property of all, however — the prop- 

in Friends. ,,,,., , . . 

erty that ranked highest — was the inesti- 
mable property in friends. The man en- 
joying the greatest number of good ties 
was the man supremely rich. His riches 
were above and beyond robbery. His 
friends were wealth imperishable, while he 
deserved them. The common ambition to 
possess this incomparable wealth had a 
stimulating and exalting influence. It was 
property within the reach of all, and a dis- 
paragement not to possess it. The signifi- 
cance of friendlessness was duly estimated. 
It meant unworthiness, and a lack of the 
genuine virtues of humanity. Courage was 
wanting, and fidelity. To have no friends 



Significance of Friendlessness 65 

was not to deserve them, and the situation 
was pitiable. Utter selfishness or degrada- 
tion only accounted for it. If the creature tLnZunt. 
had done any generous thing, the benefici- 
ary would have adhered to him. If he had 
divided his loaf, the satisfied appetite would 
have kept him in remembrance. If he had 
shown a poor man out of his extremity, 
the happy relieved fellow would have given 
him his heart. If he had been kind to 
children, he would have enjoyed an ever- 
increasing harvest of good wishes. If the 
old and the feeble had been helped by him, 
his ears would have been filled with their 
benedictions. If poor woman, with all her 
troubles, and his own too, had been met 
more than half way by his sympathy and 
tenderness, a friendship immortal would 
have attached to him inseparably. To 
have no friends was destitution indeed ; 
but to deserve a multitude of them was to 
enjoy riches incomputable and imperish- 
able. Such standards of wealth and worth 
were the result of experience and every 
test, and were fixed and irreversible. 



Labor was so honored that sheer idle- idleness 

, ,-, DlSKEPU- 

ness was disreputable. Every one was ex- table. 
pected to have something creditable to do, 



66 Stib-Ccelum 

and to do it. Children were brought up 
to pursue some avocation, or cultivate some 
occupation taste. Occupation was considered an in- 
7abic duty!' dispensable duty in the social man. An 
absolutely idle citizen was but one remove 
from a knave. To work with his own 
hands was not only the duty but the pride 
of every capable person ; and prejudices 
which despised labor were positively un- 
known. Business descended from father 
to son, and perfection was attained in every 
branch of it. It was found that a man was 
a better bootmaker from having descended 
through a long line of bootmakers. The 
feet of one in the care of such an artist 
were insensibly comfortable. His brain 
was not racked nor his nerves tortured by 
a distressing localization of his sensibility. 
Happier, too, was the artist or artisan from 
perfectly understanding his occupation ; 
and he was esteemed accordingly. A bet- 
ter feeling was established in life by expe- 
rience of its utilities. Jealousies and en- 
vies and hatreds were restrained by it. 
Fraternity was made easy, and fellowship 
possible. Manhood was helped upward by 
Mere living it, and ennobled. Mere living was not 
HijecttfUfe. considered a worthy object of life. True 
life was above the means which sustained 



Earned Leisure Most Relished 6y 

it. Equanimity had an eye to results be- 
yond the moment. Only the beasts that 
perish were contented to be merely fed. 
The nervous tread of a true man meant The nervous 

. - 1 .. , tread of a 

more than movement ; it betrayed absorb- true man. 
ment, and looked to an end worth attain- 
ing. Idleness had every gait, and none 
long. Whim changed it. Nothing to do 
was held to be the worst want of nature, 
and the most exhausting. It tested se- 
verely mind and morals. Ennui was weari- 
ness which had nothing to show : the tired 
hodman counted the courses in the wall. 
Languor pressed its nose against the pane, 
and dreamily questioned the vitality it 
mused on and envied. Earned leisure was 
most relished. Pure joy was a costly arti- 
cle. A little time for pleasure was pre- 
cious ; time for nothing else was burden- 
some. 

Time was, even in Sub-Ccelum, when indolence 
men generally were as indolent as they 
could afford to be. Unless compelled, they 
did little which was useful. Only now and 
then a high nature was created which 
worked from love, and was content with a 
tithe of the harvest. Nine parts to man- 
kind was a generous division, and only a 



68 Sub-Coelum 

great soul would spare so much. To such 
it was not sacrifice ; his return was in mul- 
tiplied blessings. Exemption from useful 
labor was the ambition or boast of nearly 
ttifling/or all. Trifling for selfish ends was therefore 
the business of most of those who could 
confine themselves to voluntary effort. 
They were perverted by a misuse of means. 
They relied upon the adventitious, till the 
natural, intrinsic resources denied them 
service. They went out of themselves for 
pleasure, and returned to find themselves 
empty. They built palaces, and existed in 
them the victims of ceremony and ser- 
vants. They bought books to adorn libra- 
ries, which satirized them. They bought 
musical instruments as ambitious orna- 
ments, and patronized the opera. They 
educated their daughters expensively, and 
saw them accept impertinence and imbe- 
cility for escorts and husbands. Their 
somm- sons were indulged and pampered, till 
pam e per a el amusements were exhausted and occupa- 
tion was purchased to keep them respecta- 
ble. They rode in carriages so conspicu- 
ously elegant as to make them sacrifice 
comfort to propriety. Their horses repre- 
sented so much capital that the weather 
and their health were consulted before 



Artificialities and their Effects 6g 

using them. Their acquaintances were 
esteemed for the rank they had and gave. 
Their houses were heated by furnaces to 
insure uniform temperature, and day and 
night they inhaled a baked atmosphere, 
and wondered at disturbed respiration. Disturbed 
Pipes conducted cold and warm water into rei 
chambers and kitchen, and they took poi- 
son in all that they drank and ate, and 
were surprised by palsy and an increase of 
nervous disorders. The wine-cellar, meant 
to be a depository of luxuries, became a 
resource against wasting vitality. The 
laugh of the fields and the streets was re- 
produced in ghastly caricature behind the 
parti-colored goblets. A joke upon the 
high price of bread redeemed a dullard, 
and the whole table from dullness. The 
children were cared for by nurses, and 
their natures modified by restraints and 
drugs, till feebleness and pitiful cries iden- 
tified them. The doctor's visits were as in- 
dispensable as the baker's or hairdresser's, 
and the household ate as they dosed, by Ate and 
prescription. The priest dropped in to scriptum. 
solace the moments between drugging and 
dressing. Life was taken up by the end- 
less round of artificialities and their effects, 
till the struggles and wants of those they 



jo Sub-Ccelum 

deplored compared with them as blessings. 
Their civilization at its worst, they slowly 
discovered that the inspiration of work 
was the spirit of life : that bread for the 
Ambrosia body, earned by exertion, was ambrosia 
for the soul. Sweet for the sweat it cost, 
it was sweeter for the promise it gave. It 
satisfied the appetite, but not the longing 
insatiable. The little feast was but a fore- 
taste of fruition. The sickly atmosphere 
of affluence, tempered to tender throats and 
low enunciation, was gathered from cellars 
bordered by sewers, and choked a healthy 
nature, exhausted and exhaustive by exer- 
tion. The great lungs of outdoor labor 
inspired the upper air of heaven, and panted 
for inspirations from its source. To-mor- 
row, on the way with the sun, would de- 
mand a full day's service, which to-day's 
fidelity must assure. To-morrow and to- 
morrow, and then the day supernal, long 
enough for any longing, an unending har- 
Mdking and vest and holiday. They realized that mak- 
e mon"y g ing money and earning it were different. 
Earning it was a reality ; making it a fic- 
tion. Money made money ; labor earned 
it. Bonds, proverbially, like infants, did 
best by sleeping ; labor was obliged to be 
awake, and faithful. A dollar, for a day in 



Worse than Want yi 

the sun, was precious ; a dollar, got in the 
dark, which could not be accounted for, 
was worse than want. Knotted hands told 
of the one ; nimble fingers or nothing told 
of the other. 

These views and activities developed Manhood 
manhood and personal freedom. Creature- sonalFree- 
comforts, more than were wholesome, were 
regarded with suspicion. In their simple 
philosophy, they were the lap of Delilah. 
They emasculated and smothered. Manli- 
ness, the thing every man should stand for, 
grew without them. Strong roots were 
made by strong winds. Careful culture 
and supports gave symmetry to the shrub 
in the conservatory, but the oak of com- 
merce grew alone, amid storms. To the 
rude soil and the tempest it owed its 
texture, and it would bear the tests of the 
seas. They had seen how the branches of 
trees by the coast or on the mountain were 
sometimes forced by the merciless winds 
to grow one way ; but the willful roots 
combined defiantly and forced themselves 
another. Character was so much resist- character. 
ance and endurance. They esteemed it a 
poor and disgraceful thing, not to be able to 
reply, with some degree of certainty, to the 



72 



Sub-Ccelitm 



simple questions, What will you be ? What 
will you do ? To cut the cable and launch 
away from conventional restraints and 
rite aspira- helps was the aspiration of every worthy 
Worthy 'titan, man at some time in his life. His individu- 
ality felt fettered and shorn. Before he 
consented to surrender and be subordinate, 
he aspired to be tried by trusts, perils, and 
calamities. He had decided the fox lucky 
that left his tail in the trap. The muskrat, 
he had observed, would gnaw his third leg 
off to be free. Native manhood was shy of 
conventionality and patronage. It was in- 
clined to be self-asserting, and was rarely 
arm-in-arm, but for recreation. It gave 
and took as it willed. It husbanded by 
determining without counsel. Its reserve 
conciliated what it would appropriate. It 
was democratic, essentially. It required 
and permitted alike. While it chose, it 
gave choice, without question. Freedom 
it claimed and allowed, an immunity with- 
out gyves. A receptacle, it could wait to 
receive, and would not obstruct nor be 
obstructed. A week was not idle that 
brought something, but a day was wasted 
if employed upon nothings. Its freedom 
was its strength, which modish subser- 
viency acknowledged by obeisance. Its 



Immunity 

without 

gyves. 



Ideal Manhood 73 

faculties were fitted for work by waiting 
for work worthy of them. Friction it liked, 
but not the attrition of mechanic move- 
ment. The principles it would freely use 
were as virginal and unhandled as when 
spoken of God. Ideal manhood stood for 
ideas, facts, and deeds. Rectitude identi- Rectitude 
fled it. The extrinsic was its foreground ; z * 
the inherent its perspective, illimitable. 
Trials quickened and refined it. Wants 
supplied and pangs consoled it. Calamities 
became resources, treasures which did not 
waste, entailed for precious uses, perpetu- 
ated in goodness, or fame, or glory. In 
heroic days, plain food, in sufficient quan- 
tity, was all that was required. The ap- 
petite was kept whetted by labor, and 
digestion was as easy and unconscious as 
respiration. Sandwiches of corn-bread and 
bacon, with the fallen tree for a table, un- 
touched and unpolished but by the winds 
of heaven, and the glittering axe for a 
platter, brighter than the brightest silver, 
made a delicious and brilliant dinner for a delicious 
the pioneer, after six honest hours of wood- "dinner. mn 
man's gymnastics. His simple and earnest 
life was ever a song or a prayer. The 
present was all thankfulness and the future 
all hope. His daily enjoyments, dearly 



J4 Sub-Ccelum 

and honestly earned, were doubly blessed 
Health and'm health and sweet conscience by the 

s^veet con- t 

science. Master Employer. His title to the acres he 
opened to the sun was directly from their 
Creator ; and the bread they brought him 
was by the sweat of his own face. His 
future, in the steady serenity of heroic 
faith, appeared abounding in only such 
promises as his fidelity and devotion real- 
ized. His work and wants were so simple 
as ever to keep him close to the Giver. 
There was no middleman to divide his 
blessings or qualify his thanksgiving. His 
health the Helper, and his will the Assur- 
ance, his own short arm was long enough 
to reach the Bountiful and Everlasting. 

the ple- In the ordinary sense, the plebeian and 
the aristo- the aristocrat did not exist in Sub-Coelum. 
Society was so constituted, and men were 
so governed by exceptional conditions, 
that such distinctions were not recognized. 
Extremes met on the same plane. Per- 
sonal freedom, self-respect, and the pride 
of manhood, placed men one with another. 
Every man a man, he naturally felt and 
acknowledged the manhood of every other. 
The uses of labor, of money, of intelligence, 
and of character, were held to be insepa- 



Responsibilities of Wealth 75 

rable. The responsibilities of wealth 
made the rich man grave, considerate, and 
modest. He felt his dependence the same Mutual de- 
as that of his less opulent neighbor. Fru- 
gality and liberality formed a just balance. 
Simple living and industry were resources 
to offset affluence. The same sum repre- 
sented services recompensed and services 
rendered. Obligation and dependence 
were mutual. It was not for employer or 
employee to lord it over his copartner. In 
his freedom from the care of great prop- 
erty, the attentive citizen of moderate 
means esteemed himself fortunate as his 
eyes gradually opened to a knowledge of 
its perils and burdens. As he perceived 
the invisible hands reaching out from all 
round for the accumulated treasure — 
hands of mendicity and hands of cupidity 
— he better understood the delicate atti- 
tude of its possessor. The cares of honest 
poverty, he discovered, were not to be com- 
pared with the cares of hoarded riches. The cares of 
The piles of letters on the rich man's table h r °khfs d 
every morning ! The fulsome flatteries, 
ingenious and offensive ! The threaten- 
ings, bold and insinuated ! The schemers, 
soliciting money to balance prescience ! 
Poor women, in the extremity of pride and 



J6 Sub-Ccelutn 

distress, humiliatingly appealing for assist- 
ance ! Reports of deficits in eleemosynary 
To quicken institutions ! All to quicken sympathy 
Tnd "disturb and disturb the purse - strings. Agents 

the purse- ., - . . . . 

strings. were kept busy searching out the worthy. 
How could the rich man, with a heart in 
him, be free from anxiety and responsi- 
bility ? His vessels were on the treacher- 
ous sea. His dividends had been lessened 
by a sweeping fire. His boy was a sorry 
expense. If he let his wealth accumulate, 
how was he to find secure and profitable 
investment ? 

the vices. The vices, in a great measure, had been 
eliminated, or had died out. Vast man- 
ufactories of drinks and superfluities had 
been abandoned. Tobacco was little used. 
Houses of sin were generally closed. Gam- 
bling was almost unknown. Occupations 
were numerously diminished. Those de- 
pending upon private vices almost ceased 
to exist. Horses were bred for moral quali- 
ties rather than for speed. The prize-ring 
was a thing of history. People wondered 
at its brutality as they read about it. That 
manhood should have been so perverted 
One of the was one of the shocking things in their 
things. annals. As the ordinary uses of money di- 



The Change Revolutionary yy 

minished, new employment was found for 

it. In proportion as the vices died out the The virtues 

,11 i i rr-i i stimulated. 

virtues had been stimulated. Ihe change 
had been revolutionary. Life was not the 
mercenary, sensual thing it had been. 
Chasing rolling bits of silver and gold had 
ceased to be its nearly universal employ- 
ment. Pandering to extravagance and vice 
was no longer respectable. To elevate 
humanity, not to degrade it, had become 
the supreme object of civilization. Men 
became ashamed of what before they had 
been proud of. They studied, more and 
more, the laws of life, and the requisites to 
health and enjoyment. Expenditures being 
largely confined to comforts and necessi- 
ties, not much money was indispensable. 
Hours of labor were reduced, and leisure Hours of la, 

i i .i • iTT oor reduced. 

was abundantly increased. Homes were 
supplied with every convenience, to make 
domestic occupations easy and attractive. 
The kitchen became a museum. Water, 
for culinary and drinking purposes, was 
perfectly filtered by simple and inexpen- 
sive means. Against flies, vermin, and in- 
sects of every sort, there was complete pro- 
tection. The common rat and pestilent 
mouse had been so persistently, intelli- 
gently, and humanely pursued, that both 



y8 Sub-Ccelum 

species were nearly extinct. Nerves and 
sympathies being too precious to be 
wasted, heads of fowls were lopped off by 

Guillotines, ingeniously contrived guillotines. Simple 
and convenient apparatus for bathing was 
in every household. In the construction 
of commodes, of every variety and pattern, 
the utmost ingenuity was expended. Pri- 
vate offices, naturally disagreeable, were 
relieved of unpleasantness by attractive 
and luxurious appliances. Offal, faeces, 
waste of every kind, were consumed by fire, 
or reduced by chemical means to impalpa- 
ble and scentless dust. The vices being 
no longer commodities, to any large extent, 
the multitudes dealing in them found other 
occupations. Genius was developed in 
unexpected abundance, and was felicitously 
applied, in innumerable ways, to make life 

Land hi- abounding in comfort and happiness. Land 

creased i7i ° 

value. increased in value as labor became more 
generally necessary to individual suste- 
nance. The big diamonds and showy 
charms, no longer attractions in the gin- 
shops and brothels, were bartered for good 
acres and implements of husbandry. Dol- 
lars, got in the dark, were no longer 
many : all, with the few exceptions, were 
earned in the light, and under the sun ; 



High Qualities Conspicuous jg 

and being limited to honest and clean uses, 
went a great way. Pecuniary indepen- 
dence was practicable and easy. A few 
hours each day supplied all that was requi- 
site. Where wants were few and easily 
satisfied, is it any wonder the distinguish- 
ing names of plebeian and aristocrat were 
obsolete or inapplicable ? 

Increase of common sense and practical common 
wisdom was a marked result of the new practicII? 
life. These high qualities appeared more 
conspicuously in all that they did. Their 
knowledge and experience were system- 
atically applied. The comparatively poor, 
capable man, for that reason, became rich 
in resources. The economies and possi- 
bilities made him a master. How could 
he be utterly poor with unexhausted means 
— while anything remained to be done it 
was possible for him to do ? His few acres 
produced marvelously. To the depth of 
three spades, sometimes, the light and 
gases were let in. Pulverization, fertiliza- 
tion, rotation, were matters of intelligent 
study and experiment, and there was 
certain increase in productiveness. Their certainin- 
kitchen gardens, more, even, than their ™Stive- 
farms, were attentively cultivated. A ' 



80 Sub-Ccelum 

small space seemed enough for a family. 
The vegetables were exaggerations, and 
their small fruits excelled in flavor and 
abundance. Cabbages and cauliflowers 
were favorites, and grew better by the 
affection bestowed upon them. Berries ! 
— to know them you must taste them. 
Their flavor was an inspiration, and a joy- 
ful memory. 

small Farms were small in Sub-Ccelum, for 

ferred. " reasons stated and inferred. Well tilled, 
they were found preferable to extensive 
plantations. Ploughing was deep. Drain- 
age was complete. When necessary, irri- 
gation was easy. Lakes on the mountains 
and high uplands, with perpetual streams 
flowing from them, supplied an abundance 
of water, and the topography of the coun- 
try was generally such that the diversion of 
it from natural channels was not difficult 
nor expensive. Extraordinary care was 
taken in the selection of the seeds they 
planted. And they attentively studied the 
enemies of all kinds of grain and plants. 
Entomology Entomology was so understood, that the 
habits of such worms and insects as they 
warred against were accurately known. 
How to exterminate them was always an 



Knowledge Liberally Applied 81 

interesting subject of conversation with 
agriculturists. The knowledge they dis- 
played was acute and extensive, and was 
always liberally applied. Applied, mark 
you ! for knowledge was not held of high 
estimation that was not practical and ap- 
plicable. Do as you know, was an admoni- 
tory precept everywhere heard. 

Fish - ponds were abundant, and great fish-ponds 

. , r . , . . . Abundant. 

pride was felt in everything pertaining to 
piscatorial culture and art. The finest fish 
for the table, and the most beautiful for 
ornament, were always at hand. There 
seemed to be no limit to the supply. Ich- 
thyological literature was exhausted to 
multiply them. Their nature was studied 
until it was understood. Just how to feed 
and treat them was known to perfection, 
and they grew in flavor and proportions 
accordingly. In the ponds, they were 
petted and caressed till they delighted in 
human companionship. They floated into 
your hand in a manner to invite sympathy 
and tenderness. Selection was made for selection 
the table with the least difficulty. In the 
streams, the varieties delighted in by 
sportsmen abounded. Every household 
had a cabinet of fishermen's supplies. 



of life. 



82 Siib-Ccelurn 

Nets, rods, hooks, flies — everything per- 
taining to the art — a veritable museum of 
utilities and curiosities. Everything was 
done to foster and elevate the art — no- 
thing to disparage and degrade it. A great 
The poetry part of the poetry of life was inspired by 
the music of streams, and the skillful cap- 
ture of their inhabitants. The man who 
did not delight in the temperate art of an- 
gling possessed no quality of the philoso- 
pher or poet. If he could not contemplate 
the running stream as an image of human 
life, and cast his hook into it as he cast his 
venture into the mysterious current of 
affairs, with only a hope or a guess of the 
result, he did not apprehend conditions. 
The shifting atoms, on their way to the 
sea, and the elusive fishes, are not more 
uncertain than the passing moments, and 
what they promise to us. 



TURE. 



bee-cul- The cultivation of flowers was universal : 
every household had a garden of them. 
Bees, as a consequence, were generally 
kept and studied. Children, even, were 
wise about the wonderful creatures. Bees 
and bee-culture was a favorite topic of con- 
versation. There was scarce any limit to 
the discoveries close observation had made 



Talk of Bee-Keepers 8} 

of their habits and achievements. The 
talk of bee-keepers was as interesting as 
the talk of astronomers. It abounded in 
incidents and anecdotes worthy the atten- 
tion of best-endowed minds. The ways of The ways of 

- - c - bees and 

bees were as curious as those of men, and men. 
were freely used to illustrate human life 
and conduct. The philosophic uses of 
both, indeed, were interchangeable, with- 
out any great disadvantage to either. A 
knowledge of the wisdom of the little in- 
sects was not encouraging to the growth of 
conceit in the higher species. The more 
people knew of bees, the less self-flattering 
the estimates of themselves were. The 
parallels they constantly drew confused 
their notions of instinct and reason. Dis- 
tinctions between them, and their limits, 
were never fixed, but constantly changing. 
No other creature under their care was so 
profoundly interesting. The suggestions 
of the apiary and its product were steady 
resources for mind and body. No food 
was considered quite so healthful, in cer- Hetug 
tain conditions, as honey. The respiratory 
and pulmonary organs were helped by it, 
and its free use was regarded by many as a 
sure preventive of consumption. Well-de- 
fined cases of that dread disease did not 



84 Sub-Ccelum 

exist there, and the fact was accounted for 
in part by the general use of the sweet pro- 
duct. Oxymel had been an approved 
remedy time out of mind. 

propaga- Great attention was paid to the propaga- 
poultry. tion of poultry. The barnyard was a pic- 
ture. By careful selection and intelligent 
treatment remarkable results had been at- 
tained. Enemies had been destroyed or 
thwarted, and disease rarely showed itself. 
Eggs multiplied prodigiously. Artificial 
hatching was not in vogue. Too many of 
the fowls produced were deformed. Be- 
sides, in their nice sense, they did not like 
to disturb the course of instinct. Capons 
grew to great proportions and sweetness. 
The duck, in kitchen parlance, was all 
breast. The turkey increased in juiciness 
and flavor under improved feeding. But 
The Mrd of the royal peacock was the bird of excel- 
lence and preference. He adorned the 
farm and completed the banquet. His 
lofty, ostentatious mien made him an un- 
failing attraction. Guests at afternoon 
dinner-parties were entertained by his ma- 
jestic strut and spread of tail and gorgeous- 
ness of color. An admiring word was 
enough to brighten and animate every fea- 



The Royal Peacock 85 

ther, and set him forth in all his glory. 
The gamut of ridiculous pride was in his 
dissonant notes. No other article of food 
commanded so high a price. In the poul- 
terer's stall he was adorned with ribbons. Adorned 

T . n . . . withribbons. 

Just the time required to ripen him per- 
fectly, was a question gastronomers were 
ever discussing ; and how most divinely to 
cook him, was a subject that inspired 
genius. Poets sang the royal bird, and 
painters exhausted their pigments to imi- 
tate his tints. Unique ceremonies were 
performed over him, as he lay in his fra- 
grance and juiciness, on the banqueting 
table, before anatomy divided his bones, 
and laid bare the depths of his bounteous 
bosom. The skilled carver, as he cut away 
the succulent flakes, was expected deftly 
to show them in such light as would dis- 
play their translucency and lustre. Times 
when the peacock was the special gastro- 
nomic glory, were occasions of faithful and 
triumphant record. Draughts were made 
of the table, and the names of honored 
guests were appropriately set down in rose- 
ate colors. 



The Sub-Ccelum oyster was the best of the sub- 
all the sixty or more known species. The oyster. 



86 Sub-Ccelum 

beds on all the shores were extensive and 
abundant — especially at the mouths of the 
Favorable great rivers. Favorable flats for trans- 
tra S nspLnt- planting were at convenient distances from 
the great beds. The greatest were in shal- 
low water, not much above a dozen feet in 
depth, making the dredging process com- 
paratively easy. Transplanted to the 
marshes, fed perpetually by innumerable 
rills of sweet water from the mountains 
and highlands, flowing through beds of 
odoriferous herbage, imparted a matchless 
flavor to the universally beloved mollusk. 
The bays had been stocked till the multi- 
plication was incalculable. Industry and 
science had done wonders. The delicious 
bivalve was of unlimited consumption, and 
cheap. Raw and cooked, he was served 
in every attractive manner. Only the per- 
fectly healthy oyster was marketable. The 
slightest show of disease consigned him to 
the basket, to be fed to the poultry and the 
The wading fishes. The wading oyster-catcher was 
catcher. hunted industriously, and did not multiply. 
In very many cases the peculiar bird was 
made to lose his predatory habits by do- 
mestication. Thus diverted in nature, he 
formed a handsome addition to the park 
and poultry yard. Once every year, a day 



Oyster-Holiday 8y 

was set apart to the celebration of the oys- 
ter ; and oyster-holiday was joyfully wel- 
comed and universally kept. Public tables pubiictabies 
groaned, as we say, with the incomparable groane ' 
marine production. It was the festival of 
the people. They met together as one 
great family, and transfused a spirit of 
love and patriotism from one to another. 
If any estrangement existed between friends 
or neighbors, it was expected to end with 
that day. New acquaintances were formed, 
and a flow of new blood fused society to a 
higher healthfulness. Prepossessions and 
jealousies and envies vanished from sound 
hearts. Grudges were never more than a 
year old. Sullen malice or malevolence, of 
longer existence, was treated as disease, or 
occasioned unenviable distinction. So- 
cially, an invisible guard was set round it, 
as around a dangerous malady. The moral 
indebtedness of the population to the an- 
nual festival was incomputable. 

The grape, of different species, and of grapes and 
many varieties, had been indigenous from 
the beginning. Soil and climate were 
adapted to its growth. In the wild state, 
the fruit was inviting and palatable, but 
under intelligent cultivation it was unsur- 



88 Sub-Ccelum 

Vineyards passed. The hills everywhere were adorned 
with vineyards. Old and young found 
congenial employment in them. Favora- 
ble conditions made it possible, without 
great artificial aid, to have the best varie- 
ties the year round. Kinds best adapted 
to the table were cultivated to be almost 
seedless. Grapes were so abundant that 
they were very cheap. All enjoyed them 
without stint. Wine-making was one of 
the active pursuits of the country, and 
those engaged in it were proud of it : the 
cleanly vats and the delicate manner in 
which the clusters were trodden, gave proof 

splashed of it. Splashed ankles of fair women added 
picturesqueness. The red and purple upon 
lustrous semi-pellucid extremities were tints 
to be remembered evermore. Artists and 
bards made the most of them. Attempt 
was made to employ young elephants to 
press out the juices ; but the innovation 
was discouraged. Opportunities of fair and 
just rivalry were not to be restricted. En- 
dowments of nature were not to be thus 

Everybody disparaged. Everybody drank wine, as he 
' did water, or milk, for refreshment and 
nourishment. Nobody thought of ques- 
tioning the morality of its use. It was 
upon every table at every meal. As great 



A Man Drunk was Odious 89 

pains were taken to keep it pure, it was 
found to be healthful. Drunkenness from Drunken 
wine-drinking was unknown. It was from wine-drink. 
distillation that the mischief came. Fortu- known. 
nately, the strong liquor was little used. 
Public opinion was against it. Reputation 
was affected by its free use. Drunkenness 
was treated as disease. Victims of it were 
separated from the general public. A man 
drunk was odious. If shame did not pre- 
vent a repetition of his offense, he was in 
danger of being considered incorrigible, 
and of being treated as such. Examples Examples 

.... . educated the 

of the kind helped to educate the people to people. 
right conduct. They did more to instruct 
than all the didactic poems, essays, and 
addresses. Their effects were thorough, 
and went to the sources of the evil. Soci- 
eties were not formed to exterminate the 
drunkard, nor to make a pet of him. He 
was held responsible till officially declared 
otherwise. Drunkenness was attacked as 
a moral disease, not to be cured by salves 
nor embrocations. The miserable habit 
would die out when better standards and 
inclinations were established. The sin The sin per- 
was personal, and not of society. The 
comfort and innocent pleasures of the 
many were not to be restricted by the 



go Sub-Ccelurn 

excesses of the few. The mode of refor- 
mation was not by absolute self-denial nor 
The joy o/ prohibition. The joy of the common heart 

the common • n • 

heart not re- was not systematically restrained nor re- 

strained. - . . . , 

pressed by individual instances of volun- 
tary excess. The good things of Sub- 
Coelum were to be enjoyed, and not to be 
abused. Good wine was inseparable from 
the life, which comprehended all that was 
excellent, and a just and generous enjoy- 
ment of it. To rejoice was better than to 
groan. Ills were forgotten in good-fellow- 
ship. Misery was not helped by lamenta- 
tion. Dolor was no cure. 



Orchards. 



endless Fruit trees were planted at each side of 

all the public roads. Not so near together 
as to impoverish or seriously shade the 
land contiguous. This utilization of the 
public spaces supplied the choicest fruit in 
abundance to everybody. All any one had 
to do was to gather it ; but it was a grave 
offense to damage in the least the trees. 
The laws regulating this wise provision 
were of the strictest character, and were 
rigorously enforced. Public opinion, how- 
ever, was a better protection than any en- 

The people actment. The people were proud of their 
endless orchards, as they called them, and 



proud of 



Belonging to Everybody gi 

guarded them with scrupulously jealous 
care. It was the rarest thing that a tree m-us^e the 
suffered from ill-usage. The Common- 
wealth planted the trees and maintained 
them. The old, or sickly, or ill-bearing 
were from time to time cut down, and 
young, vigorous, promising ones put in 
their places. The long lines of thrifty 
trees were a delight to see. In bloom, they 
filled the imagination. The bees made 
them musical. Filled with luscious fruit, 
they stimulated the palate, and made happy 
the birds. Such walks and drives, bor- 
dered by fragrance and richness ! Belong- Fragrance 
ing to nobody, but to everybody ! In full ness. 
fruitage, the bounty was in fruition. The 
Government, if a sentient, sentimental 
thing, might have realized the blessing, 
and led in the thanksgiving. Patriotism, 
under such conditions, was as natural as 
filial affection. Incivism was not conceiv- 
able. Generosity, too, was spontaneous. Generosity 

. . . . £ spontaneous. 

Easy supply was inseparable from tree 
giving. The common heart was not cir- 
cumspect nor prudential. The humanities 
quickened it, and made it unconscious in 
all good offices. Better men and women 
were but the natural result of the never- 
ending munificence. 



92 Sub-Ccelum 

highways Their highways were ideal in excellence. 
They were made of the good materials sup- 
plied by their valleys and mountains, and 
were as level as practicable, and perfectly 
drained. Grades were mathematical and 
easy. Impediment of any sort was not 
permitted. A single draft - horse would 
draw as great a burden as the most sub- 
stantial of their wagons would bear. It 
was a joy to ride or drive on their roads ; 
and the horses felt the inspiration. Vehi- 
cles, almost self-moving, were in general 
use. Everybody had some independent 
means of mechanical locomotion. Chariots 
large and chariots diminutive, with sails, 
with batteries, with wings, glided along 
without equine assistance. Happy chil- 
dren ! happy women ! happy men ! Un- 
der the blue dome was ever anything more 
j oyous ? 

how cities Their cities, towns, and villages were 
la?es were laid out in squares, with streets running, 
as we say, from northeast to southwest, 
and from southeast to northwest. Laid 
out in that manner, neither side of any 
street had any advantage. Sunshine and 
shade were the same on both sides. Prop- 
erty, in consequence, was alike desirable 



Sunshine at a Premium 93 

on either side, and, other things being 
equal, commanded the same price. Sun- 
shine being at a premium, everybody 
wanted all he could get of it. Where 
houses were separated sufficiently, the sun 
shone on every side alike. Every outside 
room had the sun a part of each day. Win- 
dows, as a rule, extended from floor to ceil- 
ing, and the air inside was sun-swept and sunwept 
purified diurnally. In chambers, beds were w 
drawn out to receive the sunshine in floods. 
Musty and damp beds were unknown, as 
were certain diseases that breed in perpet- 
ual humidity and shadow. Free sunshine 
and free air were in permanent fashion, 
and were not intercepted nor excluded ex- 
cept when necessary. Perfect ventilation 
was a desideratum, and was attained as 
nearly as possible. The sweet air ! Had 
God Almighty intended they should stint 
themselves in it, would He have poured it 
out all round the earth forty miles deep ? 
Sun-painted complexions were preferred, sun-painted 
Paleness was deplored. The pride of the «""****"• 
women especially was their high health 
and high color, which they attributed 
largely to unlimited light and pure atmos- 
phere. Living much out of doors, they 
unconsciously caught the freedom of the 



pastimes. 



94 Sub-Ccelum 

elements. Their eyes were strengthened 
and brightened by being accustomed to 
oneoftJie great range of vision. One of the pastimes 
was to count the birds, or other small ob- 
jects, so far away as scarcely to be seen. 
Every considerable residence was provided 
with a room lit only from above. The pur- 
est glass was used, and the moving clouds 
were as visible as from out-doors. Conva- 
lescents and invalids rejoiced in the pure 
light and living frescoes. On cloudy days 
and moonlight nights the sky-lit rooms 
were most attractive. A day spent in one 
of them was like a day spent in another 
zone. 

Drainage was as carefully considered as 
air and sunshine. In the location and con- 
struction of every house, provision was 
made to get rid of every drop of surface 
water not purposely caught and appropri- 
ated. Effects of neglecting thorough drain- 
age appeared in familiar statistics. In old 
maps they pointed out the routes by which 
epidemics had traveled, invariably over 
spaces imperfectly drained. Filled - up 
marshes, and little streams leading to and 
from them, had been the abode of wasting 
and rotting diseases, before the houses 



Typhus had no Chance 95 

that covered them had been pulled down, 
and the land thoroughly drained, according 
to scientific system. Cellars and sewers 
were rigidly inspected. Typhus had no 
chance to burrow or linger. Rich people Rich people 

- . r had no ad- 

had no advantage over their less fortunate vantage. 
fellow-citizens. The provision was general, 
and people of limited means and the opu- 
lent were alike rigorously governed in 
every detail pertaining to the public health. 
Humble abodes were not more frequently 
visited by disease than palaces, and there 
was not an unhealthy locality in any town 
or city. 

Light and heat were obtained almost light and 
entirely from water. After long-continued 
experiment, the elements to produce them 
had been separated and applied. Every 
house was illuminated and warmed at a 
moderate cost. The streets of cities and 
towns were brilliantly lighted. The process 
was ingenious, but not complicated nor dan- 
gerous. Besides being simple and cheap, 
it was easily manageable. Temperature 
was self-regulated. All you had to do was 
to determine the standard, and the ma- 
chinery did the rest, without considerable 
variation. Cleanly, too, the system of light- 



g6 Sub-Ccelum 

ing and heating was, without measure. 
Housekeepers were not troubled with dust, 
nor smoke, nor vapor. With the perfect 
The air was system of ventilation, the air was kept pure 
without difficulty. Nerves and brain were 
stimulated by it, and the lungs delighted 
to take it in generously. It was the gen- 
eral belief that mind and body were both 
helped by the improved method of heating, 
and great hopes of increased intellectual 
and moral development were fostered 
by it. Exalting tonics and enrapturing 
odors were diffused through the atmos- 
phere at pleasure. Talent expended itself 
in producing essences and tinctures and 
stimulants of paradisaic delicacy to be so 
employed. On great occasions the light 
produced rivaled that of the sun. The 
whole atmosphere seemed to be aflame. 
The effect was magical. The smallest 
thing was made visible, and all things were 
beautified in appearance* Men appeared 
more manly and women more lovely. The 
pretty children seemed just to have de- 
scended. 

public edi- Public edifices were not built to endure 
forever. Substantial enough and suitably 
adorned, they were meant only for a gener- 



Temples of justice 97 

ation. Instead of expending a million in 
constructing one of their temples of justice, 
to stand for a century or two, one fourth 
of that sum was found sufficient to erect 
a suitable structure, to last for an age. Toiast/or 

, , c ... an age. 

Thirty years time was round to be about 
the limit of a decent degree of cleanliness 
and purity for a public building. The 
foul gases and scents and creatures would 
get in, and no amount of precaution or 
care would keep them out. It was dis- 
covered that the only way to destroy them 
completely was to take down the building. 
The structure to succeed it was built after 
the latest models, and was adapted to the 
generation that was to use it. Better 
drainage was had, and better provision was 
made for ventilation and lighting. In every 
way the new building was an improvement 
on the old, and was better adapted to the 
purposes for which it was intended. This 
habit of general demolition and reconstruc- Demolition 
tion was for economic as well as sanitary 7truaio7f 
reasons. Experience had proven that re- 
pairs alone, on a million structure, to say 
nothing of the item of interest, exceeded 
the cost of new buildings. Experiments 
of architects and plumbers were not made 
except at great expense, and as often dam- 



g8 Sub-Ccelum 

age resulted from them as benefit. At 
best, modification and adaptation made it 
an old building. While the architecture 
changed with each new edifice, much care 
Economy was taken to limit the cost of it. Showy 
ornamentation was strictly avoided, as not 
in agreement with the public taste or public 
policy. Newness and freshness were pre- 
ferred to decay and dinginess. Distaste 
for soiled finery was pervading — it ex- 
tended even to neglected ostentatious 
buildings. Architecture, therefore, looked 
to simplicity and cheerfulness, and scrupu- 
lously avoided whatever might appear som- 
bre or involved. The public was generous 
to the limit of reason, — extravagance they 
did not permit. Expenditures must be 
prudent and exemplary. The citizen was 
not to see in the public what would be 
condemned in himself. The universally 
adopted code of morals forbade the expen- 
diture of public money without necessity, 
or beyond what was reasonable or proper. 
Reckless dissipation of the people's money 
was of rarest occurrence. 

hotels. Hotels, also, for the public entertain- 

ment, were built to last only for a genera- 
tion. Experience had taught that, in spite 



The Old-Hotel Smell gg 

of all the soap and paint and disinfectants 
that could be used, they would grow offen- 
sive to the olfactories. The old -hotel 
smell was pronounced the most objection- objections 
able and noxious of all the variety known wm. 
to the nose of man. It was the product of 
cellars, sewers, closets, et caetera, and con- 
tained a portion of all the subtle poisons 
known and unknown to chemistry. Only 
the sunshine and fresh air would dissipate 
it. Proverbially, the newest hotel was the 
best. The public, as a rule, systematically 
passed by hostelries where for many years 
human beings had eaten and slept and 
performed every private office. Pollution 
bred there. 

Not a bell was heard from any building bells. 
in Sub-Ccelum. Years and years had 
elapsed since bells had been used to call 
the people together for any purpose. 
Everybody had a clock in his house or a 
chronometer in his pocket, and bells were 
not regarded as necessary. Besides, the 
noise had become generally distasteful, and 
the common feeling and the common sense 
had prohibited it. After every attempt had 
been made to improve them in tone, it was 
decided that the best results could hardly 



wo Sub-Ccelum 

be called musical. The most complete 
chimes, in the common ear, were little 
more than discords — consonance or har- 
mony was not in them. The highest ex- 
cellence in music having been attained, the 
shocked by public ear was so acute as to be shocked 
by mere noise. Every one having a taste 
for the divine art was encouraged to cul- 
tivate it. Scientific training had made the 
majority pretty good musicians. Mere 
noise, to the extremity of possibility, was 
avoided. Exquisite and exalted strains pre- 
cluded it — even the consciousness of it. 
Absolute softness and sweetness were de- 
siderata. The tones of forty instruments 
were so perfectly blended that you hardly 
heard them a few rods away. But bells 
had been abolished for better reasons. 
The people had increased in thoughtful- 
ness, refinement, and good-breeding, until 
they would not permit what might be 
regarded by any considerable number of 
co7isiderate persons as unnecessary disturbance. Sick 
people. people, people in distress, were thought of 
in all that pertained to their comfort and 
protection. Jingling, jangling, tintinnabu- 
lary noises, to rend sensitive nerves and 
hammer inflamed brains, were tortures to 
the unfortunate that considerate civiliza- 



Pervading Thoughtfulness 101 

tion did not tolerate. People who from 
any cause needed sleep were remembered 
and protected. The voice of one, in ex- 
tremity, was heard and heeded by the 
multitude. Majorities were considerate of 
minorities. Might did not make right. Might did 
The pervading thoughtfulness of others right. 
was one of the distinguishing charms of 
the population. It quickened perception 
of justice, and tenderly regarded weakness. 
It made aggressiveness offensive. Hard- 
ness was barbarity. Noises, irritating to 
many, and not necessary to any, like those 
produced by loud-sounding bells, were dis- 
pensed with, as not in agreement with their 
philosophy of life. Their scheme of civili- 
zation was to make everybody happy — 
nobody miserable. 

Music was so generally cultivated and music. 
enjoyed that it largely governed the life. 
It was vocation and avocation — employ- 
ment and diversion for mind, body, and 
spirit. Taste and ability for it had come 
down through the generations. It seemed 
as natural to them as any appetite, and as 
necessary as to breathe. They could, most 
of them, sit down at an instrument and 
practice for hours together without weari- 



102 Sub-C&lum 

ness or nervous disturbance. If ill effects 
followed application, continuance was 
discouraged. The pupil was not thought 
suited to the art to whom it was labor to 
study and practice it. To force him was 
considered detrimental to health and hap- 

Agoodre. piness. The result was, that while every- 
body enjoyed music, not everybody con- 
tinually attempted to produce it. The 
population good - naturedly put up with 
tyros, at the same time they took pains to 
protect themselves against them. Isolated 
halls were provided for students to practice 
in. Anybody could not blow his horn any- 
where without authority. Brass - bands, 
except the few that were distinguished, 
were permitted to play in the streets and 
public squares only on certain holidays. 
At other times they were officially rele- 
gated to the fields and forests — to play 

The night only in the daytime. The night was held 
sacred to silence and sweet concord. 
Learners in households were only heard at 
certain hours in the morning, when ears 
and nerves were most enduring. The gen- 
eral musical taste and education of the 
people did not tend to unfit them for other 
occupations and avocations. It was possi- 
ble for a performer or vocalist to get a liv- 



Idlers did not Abound 103 

ing by other means, however proficient he 
might be in his art. Idlers did not abound 
in consequence of the prevailing passion 
and acquisition. Musical societies of Muskaisod. 
every character were permanently organ- 
ized — small for private enjoyment, large 
for public exhibition. The home entertain- 
ments, in which music predominated, were 
superior. Imitations of sounds of every 
sort were produced by the voice and by 
instruments. The ^Eolian harp itself was 
imitated, as well as the notes and cries of 
birds and animals. The moan of the sea 
and the murmur of the brook were repro- 
duced with surprising exactness. The 
birds in the cages joined in the concert. 
The cock in the barnyard responded to his 
own notes. Fun and enthusiasm mingled. 
But in the music of Heaven — the orato- The music 0/ 
rio — they were happiest and most tran- 
scendent. The sublime choruses kindled 
the imagination and enraptured the soul. 
Not a thought of noise was suggested or 
impressed. Discord was not. Harmony 
prevailed, and governed, to the last degree. 
You left the great auditorium full to the 
throat, and the eyes, of the glories that 
are, and the glories that are to be, ever- 
more. 



104 



Sub-Ccelutn 



Poets and 
Poetry. 



Great poets there were in Sub-Coelum ; 
but not many. Their names being short, 
you could utter them all without taking a 
breath. Poetasters, however, were numer- 
ous ; and rhymsters without end. Verse- 
making was one of the common amuse- 
ments of the people. Much of their corre- 
spondence was in verse. Facility in the 
use of language, and their musical sense, 
made the process easy. Rhythm and 
rhyme were one to them. But poetry was 
another thing, and attempts at it were not 
received with favor. High standards made 
The Maker it unattainable by mere labor. The Maker 
7oet e l made the poet. The poetical view of na- 
ture and man they regarded as the clearest 
view, agreeing with one of the great sages, 
that the meaning of song goes deep. The 
poet was, to them, indeed a seer, a prophet, 
a soul divinely inspired. From him more 
even than from the priest, they had evi- 
dence that Sub-Coelum was overspanned 
by a veritable though invisible Super-Cce- 
lum, city of the Eternal God. Therefore 
they held no such foolish saying as that a 
proposition has in it more truth than poe- 
poetryto try, for poetry to their apprehension was 
heZbn. e " the nearest approximation to absolute 
truth that human language could achieve. 






The Art of Poetry 105 

To say that a statement was true as poetry, 
was to exhaust the power of exact speech. 
The person in their community who had 
no sense of beauty, no ear for music, and 
no susceptibility to poetic influences, was 
looked upon with pity, much as in other 
parts of the world humane people regard an 
amiable and intelligent dumb animal. For 
the Sub-Ccelumites were the most tolerant The most 

1 r 1 • r .11 11 tolerant and 

and forbearing of mortals, largely because forbearing 
they were suffused with the sweet light of 
the imagination. They could even bear to 
have fellowship with men and women who 
were destitute of humor, that most celes- 
tial virtue. To them Poetry and Humor 
were the nectar and ambrosia of the gods. 
In their palaces hung the portraits of all 
the great Makers from Homer and ^Eschy- 
lus to the nobler bards of their own realm 
and time. Boys and girls were brought up Brought up 

to honor the name of Poet, and to fashion name of 
1 • i- t 1 Poet - 

their lives according to the supreme mo- 
rality of the immortal poems which inter- 
pret both human truth and divine revela- 
tion. The art of poetry itself took on a 
wonderful and almost incredible develop- 
ment under the new conditions of life and 
new motives to action existing in their 
civilization. Like every other expression 



io6 Sub-Codum 

of man's consciousness, in that extraordi- 
nary country, poetry was large and free, 
and adequate to nature. The sublime and 
beautiful forms which verse assumed were 
a general innumerable. There was a general break- 

breakhig- . . . 

loose /rom ing loose from conventional fetters, — an 

conventio7ial , . 

fetters. infinite expansion of the laws of rhythm, 
melody, metre, stanza, and trope ; — the 
inspired soul of the creative genius put on 
robes of singing splendor, and revealed the 
infinite Love and Beauty and Power 
through the medium of words. All the 
people studied and practiced, in some de- 
gree, the science and art of poetical compo- 
sition, as they did the elements of music, 
not for the purpose of setting up as poets 
or musicians, but in order to be able to ap- 
preciate and enjoy the superb productions 
of the mighty masters. 

musical One of the most interesting results of 

their temperate and cultivated life was the 
great proportion of finely modulated voices. 
Very many of them were extremely musi- 
cal. Voices hard, harsh, husky, disagree- 
able, were exceptional. Tones, as a rule, 
accorded with habits, dispositions, and ac- 
quirements. Free, almost entirely, from 
excesses of any sort, kindly in nature, and 



Voices. 



Slow and Deep Breathing loy 

thoughtfully intelligent, gentleness and 
sweetness of expression were only natural 
to them. Vices and violences had not dis- 
ordered their speech. Gluttony and drunk- 
enness had not inflamed the membranes. 
Breathing was free and unconscious, and Breathing 

free and ' un- 

was little more rapid when awake than conscious. 
when sleeping. Slow and deep breathing 
had long been practiced advantageously. 
A dozen inspirations to the minute were 
not very uncommon. Increased strength, 
flexibility, and richness were added to the 
voice by the good habit. Pretty long sen- 
tences were easily and naturally spoken 
without taking a breath. Lost or artificial 
teeth did not affect their articulation. The 
insides of their mouths were not covered 
over with gold or other substance to 
abrade or indurate the delicate surfaces, 
and consciously modify expression. The 
dress of men and women did not interfere 
with the natural growth and expansion of 
their chests. It was the rarest thing that 
breasts were not broad and arched. 
Throats, too, were round and full, from Throats 

. tit round and 

never having been compressed or hurt by fuii. 
vicious dressing. It was considered an 
outrage upon nature to do anything that 
would interrupt in the least the free growth 



ioS Sub-Coclum 

of any part of the body — especially of the 
The n/e-giv. life-giving apparatus of respiration and 

ing appara- . . . . 

t*s. enunciation ; on the contrary, everything 

was done to promote its completest natural 
development. The slightest disturbance 
of its functions was anxiously observed, 
and corrected, if possible, as interfering not 
only with individual comfort, but the gen- 
eral happiness. Inhaling tubes were freely 
used, to make slow and deep breathing 
habitual. Men and women walked miles 
at a time breathing entirely through them. 
Instances were not uncommon where the 
circumference of the chest had been in- 
creased from one to two inches in a year 
by frequently using them, and that without 

Great i?ispt- increase of bodily weight. Great inspira- 

Ixygen^ tions of oxygen moistened the spine and 
beaded the brow, and prepared them for 
any intellectual or moral work, better than 
by other possible means of stimulation. 
But the melody of their voices was far from 
being wholly owing to their physical life 
and training ; their high moral natures and 
cultivated intellects contributed as much 
or more to produce it, by reacting on their 

Conversa- sympathetic bodies. Conversation be- 
tween highly enlightened and humane men 
and women, upon worthy subjects, was 



Hon. 



Their Good Readers iog 

charming indeed. Tones were as varied 
as the notes of the harp when played upon 
by the winds. Thought and feeling, in Thought 

and feeling. 

gradation and development, were uncon- 
sciously betrayed in ever-varying modula- 
tions. Voices flowed, like the full-running 
brook — now slow, now rapid ; rippling 
joyously ; then descending, where it was 
still and deep, to swell again in fuller rich- 
ness, with the glow of imagination and sen- 
timent. To hear one of their good readers 
read was a very high order of entertain- 
ment. Not an affectation or trick of the 
self-conscious elocutionist was visible in the 
exercise. He lost himself in the printed Lost himself 
page, and his voice echoed its thought and edpage™ 11 
emotion. The conversation between the 
Twa Dogs appeared the most natural of 
dialogues. The interlocutors seemed in- 
deed men, until the invincible humor com- 
pelled you to remember they were only 
dogs. The battles in Homer were as real 
as any conflicts could be. In passages of 
Job and Habakkuk you felt in full force 
the sublimity of supra-imagination. In the 
scene of the White Rose in the Paradise of scene of the 
Dante you had a vision of highest heaven. w er0Se ' 
A lofty meaning was revealed that might 
have astonished the poet himself. 



no Sub-Coelum 

tight Tight dressing was not fashionable in 

dressing. s u b_c oe i um# The people were proud of 
their natural bodies and sound children. 
It had been a great while since any gen- 
eral effort had been made to divert or 
thwart nature. Occasional attempts in 
that way were always attended and fol- 
lowed by the same results. Time was 
when distortion of the body was common. 
It was thought beautiful to be out of na- 
ture. The shape was fixed by the artist's 
patterns, no matter at what cost of pain or 
violence, The rules of tape and scissors 
Proportions were remorseless. Proportions must be 
artistic. artistic. Form must be fitted to the 
mould. Life was absorbingly artificial. 
Balls and calls and parties and operas and 
shopping left little time for anything else. 
Children were an incumbrance. Nurses, 
most trustworthy, might be obtained ; but 
the mother could not withdraw her mind 
wholly from her offspring. The success 
of her friend's magnificent entertainment 
would be qualified or marred by her uneas- 
iness and anxiety. The tastes and re- 
quirements of gayety and maternity were 
Fashion incongruous. Fashion was exacting, and 
exacting. wou u not j et ^gj. votaries divide or sus- 
pend their worship. Out of fashion, out 



The Race Threatened in 

of the world, was one of her maxims. 
Out of sight, out of mind, was another. 
Lists of friends were continually being re- 
vised, and a chance would occur of being 
left off. Babies, she said, were vulgar ; Babies. 
they were troublesome and spoiled the 
shape. Her rule was omnipotent while it 
lasted. Only the general decline of health 
and weakness of progeny abated her 
power. The vigor and happiness of the 
race were threatened, even its existence. 
Nervous disorders multiplied. Soundness 
of mind as well as of body was slowly 
sapped. Three or four successive genera- 
tions showed marked declension and de- 
generacy. Society, only after such con- 
vincing results, became alarmed at her 
follies, and set about righting herself. 
Revolution was pretty nearly complete. 
It became fashionable to keep good hours, 
to eat healthful food, to wear loose, com- 
fortable clothing, and to carefully avoid Nature not 
any interference with nature. The beauty /eredwu'h. 
of the race — of men and of women — in- 
creased. They were healthier and hap- 
pier. They enjoyed, more and more, their 
homes and children. Gayety abounded of 
the natural kind. The joys of life were 
the joys of health. The Style and Mrs. 



112 Sub-Coelum 

Grundy did no longer govern absolutely. 

In fact, it became the fashion to be health- 

Compkx- ful and natural and robust. Good com- 

ions. . ...... 

plexions came of right living. Paleness 
or sallowness was exceptional. Uncon- 
sciously elastic bodies and sound minds 
predominated. The young, left to nature, 
were as free-bodied as young animals al- 
ways are. Domestic life was ideal. The 
atmosphere of well-ordered homes was the 
best under heaven. 

a felicity It was deemed the greatest part of their 

to be Well- " * 

born. felicity to be well-born — of parents with 
sound bodies, sound minds, and correct 
principles, and to inherit the same. It was 
asserted that no one ever changed his 
character from the time he was two years 
old ; nay, from the time he was two hours 
old. That he might, with instruction and 
opportunity, mend his manners, or alter 
them for the worse, as the flesh or fortune 
served ; but the character, the internal, 
original bias, remained always the same, 
true to itself to the very last, feeling the 
ruling passion strong in death. They be- 
lieved, with the same authority, that the 

The fatal color of their lives was woven into the fatal 
thread at their births ; that their original 



Each Man's Destiny iij 

sins and redeeming graces were infused 
into them ; nor was the bond that con- The bond 
firmed their destiny ever canceled. It was ceud. 
said, and believed too, that, by whatever 
name you call it, the unconscious was found 
controlling each man's destiny without, or 
in defiance of, his will. Also, that all in- 
dividuals were the outcome of past in- 
fluences. Generations lived and thought 
and acted that each one might be what he 
was. Were any link in the chain of hered- The chain of 
ity lacking, he would be different in apti- 
tude, in capacity, in very form and appear- 
ance. The absence of some faculty, the 
feebleness of some disposition in some one 
or other of his ancestors, were sufficient to 
vary the results in his own person. Ah ! 
they thoughtfully and sadly exclaimed, if 
only full-grown men and full-grown women, 
with sound bodies and sound minds, were 
permitted to marry ! Conscience, integ- 
rity, and reason, as far as possible, were 
educated to that end. 



The population was of many races com- a compos- 
pounded. The blood of many peoples had tk>n. opula " 
been infused into it. So composite in its 
character, social problems had been slow 
of solution. Prejudices of race had been 



H4 Sub-Coelum 

a great hindrance. The more refined and 
gentle had been shy of the rude and ag- 
gressive. Conservatism had resisted the 
clamors of new blood. Power grew timid 
from variance of interests and suscepti- 
sharpan- bility of change. Sharp antagonisms kept 

tagonisms. . • 11 1 • r 1 m« 

society continually at the point of boiling. 
Good had come of all this clashing and fer- 
mentation ; but the people wearied of it. 
Reaction was inevitable. It came ; and 
with it a disposition to liberality. Fusion 
seemed not so difficult. Opponents cooled, 
or went arm-in-arm. Individuals graciously 
cooperated for the public weal. Notions 
gave place to opinion, and opinion to 
reasonable judgment. Where clamor had 
been bedlam, deliberation reigned. Like 
a mighty stream of many tributaries, pro- 
gress was no longer checked and fretted 
by obstructing jealousies and hatreds. 
Minor differences, in thought and in action, 
Raceprejw- were tolerated. Race prejudices gradually 
gave way, and bigotries. Fibres intermin- 
gled and blood interfused. Distinctions 
were obliterated by intermarriage. Free- 
dom of taste was indulged. So many 
varieties, the faculty of discerning enjoyed 
great scope. Each race had supplied its 
characteristics, physical, intellectual, and 



dices. 



Vigorous Men and Women 115 

moral. Temperaments, from the frigid to 
the fiery, were in contact. Every color of 
hair and almost every tint of complexion. Every tint 
Voices coarse, and musical as Apollo's °ion? m 
lute. Noses straight, aquiline, and snub. 
Ears delicately transparent and ears rudely 
drooping. Lips refined and lips voluptu- 
ous. Deep chests and shallow, with great 
lungs and feeble. Muscles of ropes and 
apologies for muscles. Alexanders tall 
and Thumbs diminutive. Bearded and 
beardless. Every variety of man and 
woman to select from. Marriage was not 
interfered with, except in cases of close 
relationship. Complexions, as a result, 
were often very striking and beautiful, and 
figures produced of remarkable mould. 
Vigorous men and women were the rule. 
The exceptionally puny of both sexes, kept 
apart, not considering themselves proper 
subjects for wedlock. The population Thepojmia- 

.... , . T . tion steadily 

steadily improved in every respect. Intel- improved. 
lect was quickened and the heart softened. 
Temperament, especially, was refreshed 
and stimulated. Emotion was indulged ; 
feeling was exhibited without exciting de- 
rision. Children were born happy, and 
were not regretted. Grace was in their 
attitudes and music in their voices. Na- 



u 6 Sub-Ccelum 

ture had free sway. Aptitudes developed 
early. Inherited traits were conspicuous. 
It was soon perceived what the child 
desired, and was born to do, and he was 
educated and encouraged accordingly. It 
a maxim of was a maxim of one of their sages, and 

one of their . . ' 

^ges. they acted upon it : Or that which a man 
desires in his youth, of that he shall have 
in age as much as he will. Elements of 
power and culture were realized in conse- 
quence. Love of thought and love for the 
beautiful appeared spontaneous and upper- 
most. The man or woman was what na- 
ture meant him or her to be. Old family 
portraits showed many shades of complex- 
ion and great variety of conformation. Ex- 
tremes met in every collection. Faces so 
dark as to require light backgrounds to 
make them distinctly visible were close 
beside others, delicate, fair, and rosy. 

contrasts. Rudeness and coarseness contrasted with 
high-breeding and refinement. Looking at 
the differing portraits, it was not difficult to 
account for their liberal and enlightened 
civilization. Nature, in a fateful, myste- 
rious way, had propitiously brought about 
the inevitable. Toleration and upward 
growth were necessities. They must re- 
spect each other, and be better. 



foys of Wedlock uy 

Weddings in Sub-Coelum were strictly weddings 
private and unostentatious. Not that mar- Ccelum. 
riage was more uncertain there than in any 
other part of the universe. It was a test 
of character, the result of which was every- 
where and always past anticipating. The 
least promising often turned out the best, 
was a proverb. The miseries of wedlock, 
they said, were to be numbered among 
those evils which cannot be prevented, and 
must only be endured with patience and 
palliated with judgment. Its joys were the 
greatest known to mankind — inestimable 
and inexhaustible. The dream of hope The dream 

. of hope and 

and expectation, when realized, was the expectation. 
one incomparable and never-ending felicity. 
The worse than blanks with the prizes 
made the drawing always dangerous, and it 
was deemed prudent to postpone the cele- 
bration till a year or two after the wedding. 
These occasions of rejoicing were frequent, 
and were participated in heartily by friends 
and relations. Fate and fortune had been 
bounteous, and thanksgiving was sponta- 
neous. Fact was commemorated, not hope 
celebrated ; happiness was realized, — 
better than all anticipation. Man and wife Man and 

1 i i»i • l w if e Con ~ 

were congratulated, not bride and bride- gratuiated. 
groom. Whatever of fret and irritation 



n8 Sub-Coelum 

had been experienced, the calm had come, 
and the open sea, with a bright sky over 
idtaiwas all. Ideal was real. Misconception had 
given way, and each appeared better to the 
other, though different. They understood 
each other, and were incorporated. A 
child perhaps had blessed the union, and 
the household was a home, in all that the 
word implied. Presents were simple and 
appropriate — useful and to be used — and 
were not in any sense satirizing or vainly 
showy. A different moral atmosphere 
pervaded one of these commemorations 
than that of a bridal celebration. At the 
wedding, mystery and uncertainty made the 
thoughtful grave ; only the giddy were un- 
qualifiedly joyous. Shadows and clouds 
did not appear to their hopeful eyes. Plain 
sailing only was thought of, without variable 
or conflicting winds. Compounding incom- 
patibles had not entered into their intel- 
lectual chemistry. Fusing dissimilar na- 
tures they had not thought of as one of the 
Theinspir- difficult things under the sun. Love, the 
gam. inspiring amalgam in their theory of life, 

would as often fail as succeed in the con- 
flict of diversities. Interest and necessity 
and pride did not enter into their calcula- 
tions of connubial existence. They did not 



The Omnipotence of Silence 1 19 

calculate at all ; they only dreamed. Con- 
cession, compromise, surrender, they did 
not see as necessities. The omnipotence 
of silence, in extremity, was not compre- 
hended. Wise Sub-Ccelumites, to celebrate 
marriage a year or two after the wedding 
ceremony ! 

At one time six unmarried persons, reasons 
three of each sex — guests at one of their mining 
unpretending watering-places — were in a 
sail-boat together, becalmed. For enter- 
tainment, it was determined that each one 
should tell the rest, in a word, why he or 
she had remained single. Acquaintances 
but for a week, and not likely ever to meet 
again after a fortnight, they spoke with 
unqualified frankness. Of uncertain age, 
they were not without experience. 

The first to speak was a gentleman, say The first to 
of forty-five or fifty years. The governing 
reason, he said, why he had not married, 
was self-distrust. Early experience had 
taught him the inconvenience, if not the 
distresses, of poverty. He remembered 
the sacrifices of his mother, and had re- 
solved that his wife, if fated to have one, 
should not be subjected to like expedients 
and hardships. At twenty he was enam- 



120 Sub-Ccelum 

ored of a fair girl — the fairest, by far, he 
ever had seen. She filled his eye, his 
mind's eye, his imagination. She was very 
lovely. He was shy of her presence, but 
he could not keep entirely away from her ; 
shefasci- she fascinated him completely. He had the 
will of a full-grown man, with a few years 
of initiatory experience in a respectable 
occupation ; but all, indeed, of real life, 
was yet before him. He did not know the 
stuff of manhood that was in him : he had 
not been measured and tried by affairs. 
His intellectual and moral grappling-irons 
might be unequal to the grasp that was 
necessary even to ordinary success. He 
dared not meet the incomparable girl 
alone — he was sure to tell her he loved 
her if he did. There was not a word or a 
caress that all the world might not have 
heard or seen. He subjected himself to 
severest self-questioning. If he asked her 
and she said yes, what was he to do with 
her ? Over and over he turned the prob- 
Anxious lem in his mind, through anxious days and 
sleepless sleepless nights. Not without many a 
struggle he distrustingly determined that 
he had no right to ask her — the all-worthy 
incarnation of super-excellence — to take 
the chances of life with him. Heaven sent 



nights. 



Violence of Disposition 121 

her a more courageous lover, and she died 
an idolized wife and mother. He might 
say he had prospered in the world ; but he 
had never met with another who was the 
same in his eyes and affections. And was 
it possible he could love one inferior to 
her? 

The next gentleman to speak was The next 

1 r tt i i i m gentleman. 

younger by a few years. He had a devil 
of a temper, he said, and all of his life he 
had been afraid of its consequences. 
Quick as a flash, he had once thrown a 
hatchet at a boy for a slight indignity. 
Placid as he appeared, the violence of his 
nature could not be comprehended. With 
plenty of red in his complexion ordinarily, 
in a rage he turned white as a sheet. In 
one of his fits he dared not look at himself 
in the glass. At such times a vicious 
grandfather looked out of his eyes. The 
dangerous old man was a terror as long as 
he lived. Two or three times he had been 
locked up as insane. He himself was in 
constant dread of the same treatment. He inconstant 
did his utmost to govern himself; but once 
in a while, in spite of all that he could do, 
the Satanic in him would break loose. 
His acquaintances were chosen for their 
forbearance and placidity. He had an eye 



/ 22 Stib-Cochim 

to the same traits in his employees, and 
paid a premium for them. Once, a con- 
flict with one of his workmen nearly cost 

His evil na- him his life. He had also exposed his 
evil disposition in a court of justice, while 
giving his testimony. Through the good 
influence of his mother he became a mem- 
ber of a church society ; but his dread of 
becoming a disturbing element made him 
withdraw from it. His best reliance as a 
safeguard was his ability to control a 
strong appetite for drink. The possibili- 
ties of his evil nature were terrifying 
enough without artificial stimulation. 
Think of it ! A man with such tendencies 
to marry ! God help the poor woman who 
risked a union with him ! The novel irri- 
tations of the relation would have been 
sure to develop the bad in him preter- 
naturally. The tiger and serpent might 

Oneexperi- never be wholly quiescent or torpid. One 
' experience of the tender passion, he said, 
was enough. His sweetheart had know- 
ledge of his success in the world, and 
seemed disposed to encourage his suit. 
She was not suspicious, and would not be- 
lieve what was told to her. Her own body 
and soul in perfect health — without an 
evil inclination that could be perceived — 



ence enmigh. 



The Passion of Passions 123 

how could she believe it — the least part 
of it ? Confidence inspired affection — 
devotion. The joys of ' wedlock were 
dreamed of in a way, for the time being, to 
transform his nature. The Satanic was 
forgotten in the glories awakened by the 
passion of passions. When an old lover Anoidiover 

appeared. 

made his appearance ! New eyes were 
given him. Dazed at first, he soon saw 
falsely. Jealousy took possession of him. 
A scene ensued. He was understood, and 
dreaded, of course, and there was a separa- 
tion. The misery that sweet woman es- 
caped ! 

The third gentleman said he felt some The third 

,-..-. . gentleman's 

reluctance about telling his story, as it story. 
might appear to bear a little hard upon the 
other sex. But the case was exceptional, 
and he would be excused. He had met 
the lady at two dinner-parties, but never 
at home. He had been struck by her 
gracefulness and ease of manner, and by 
her brilliancy in conversation. She had 
charmed him as he had never been charmed 
before. He determined to visit her, as 
they say, with a view to matrimony. The 
reception was cordial, and he was delighted Reception 
with the prospect. The beautiful girl was 
more attractive than ever. Her graceful 



124 Sub-Ccclum 

person was exquisitely adorned. Her eyes 
Tact and in- were brighter than diamonds. Tact and 

telhgence m ° 

conduct and intelligence marked her conduct and 

speech. ° 

speech. Her music was finished and 
chaste : one of her songs touched him par- 
ticularly : emotion was in every note of it : 
it reminded him of much that had been 
delightful in his varied life. The drawing- 
rooms were adorned in an elegant manner. 
Mirrors, the costliest, were on the walls. 
Carpets of velvet softened and warmed the 
floors. The rugs were pictures. In the 
midst of his enjoyment it began to storm, 
and it continued to storm, violently, with- 
out intermission. It was a wild night. Far 
away from his lodgings, he was obliged to 
accept further hospitalities. The chamber 
he occupied was in such contrast with the 
salon he had just left that he was dum- 
founded. He rubbed his eyes and collected 
Lostintiie his scattered wits ; but he felt lost in the 
nation and changed situation and conditions. Every - 

conditions. , 

thing in the room had a neglected look. 
The draperies were faded and mean. In- 
hospitableness was in every detail. The 
bed was most uninviting. The linen was 
not clean nor fresh. The contents of the 
pillows were not eider-down by far ; and 
they were lumpy, and had an unwholesome 



The Truth Revealed to Him 125 

smell. The storm, and the revelation of 
neglect, and the miserable disappointment, 
made a very uneasy night for him. The An uneasy 
breakfast-room had the same neglected ** 
look and the same noisome smell. The 
carpet had one great offensive spot upon it 
that had never been forgotten. The muffins 
and omelet were overdone, and the coffee 
was muddy. The drawing-rooms, after the 
night's and morning's experience, appeared 
affectedly fine indeed, and confused all his 
memories and previous impressions. He 
took his leave a wiser but not a happier 
man. He was sorry to have had the truth 
revealed to him in such an unexpected 
way. The thoughtlessness of the impos- 
ture had surprised him beyond measure. 
To call such a household a home seemed a 
monstrous misuse of the word. Could it 
be possible for one bred in such an atmos- 
phere to comprehend what a home should 
be ? All idea of cleanliness and comfort 
had been lost in affectations, disguises, and 
self-delusion. He frequently met the 
young woman afterwards, but never other- 
wise than as an acquaintance : the disillu- Thedisuiu- 
sion had divested her of all attractiveness. 
The world took possession of him — its 
cares and responsibilities. Burdens of 



1 2b Sub-Ccelum 

others came upon him, one after another, 
and he believed he was contributing to the 
common stock of happiness. It was not 
likely that he would entertain thoughts of 
matrimony again. 
The first The first lady to speak was strikingly 
speak. attractive, from her beauty of health and 
perfection of maturity. She might have 
stood for Juno in sculpture. She said she 
would be frank as the rest, and tell her 
story without let or disguises. The gov- 
erning cause of her single-blessedness, she 
said, was discovered by the professor in 
the examination of her head, when he pro- 
nounced her exceptionally small in philo- 
progenitiveness. Where a bump ought to 
be, was found a perceptible cavity. When 
this organ was small, science taught, there 
would be shown lukewarm attachment for 
children ; they would not be esteemed a 
blessing ; weariness and impatience would 
be felt in their company ; their prattle 
would not be tolerated. Her experience 
she could was in confirmation of science : she could 
"children, not abide children, except in very rare 
cases. As studies merely, as a rule, they 
had been interesting to her. Young ani- 
mals of other species were about as engag- 
ing. As she could not help this perversion, 



Two Husbands 127 

she had yielded to it reluctantly. It was 
not pleasant to be out of nature in such 
an extraordinary way. It made marriage 
— the haven of happiness to most women — 
impracticable to her. She had dreamed, she had 

. . . dreamed of 

time and again, of maternity — of being maternity. 
surrounded by her own children ; and the 
joy of relief upon awaking was spasmodic. 
Other loves than those of motherhood had 
been vouchsafed to her. She had two 
husbands, so to speak, — literature and art. 
Never a day was long to her with a good 
book for company. Belles-lettres, in all 
that it included, was ever fresh and abound- 
ing in interest. Life in literature was the 
life she most relished. She could enter 
into it or quit it at will. The creatures 
and personages of books did not need to 
be petted and flattered : unceremonious 
usage did not offend them. Pictures she 
enjoyed, and sometimes painted, in a poor 
way. Her sense of vision was helped by 
the pastime. She saw more, the more she 
drew and colored. The possibilities of The tossm. 

. ittes of tints. 

tints were a perpetual surprise to her. 
Sometimes she essayed portraiture, but 
only in attempts to portray manhood in 
rare specimens. All of her powers were 
in best employment at such times. Lines 



128 Sub-Coelum 

of thought in a thoughtful face it was her 
chief pleasure and ambition to trace. Com- 
plexions of women and children were too 
delicate for her brush, as were all expres- 
sions of effeminacy and softness. The 
bold, the strong, the manly, excited her to 
Married to utmost effort. So married to print and 

Pri?ii and 

canvas. canvas, what more could she desire ? She 
had had lovers — not a few. One poor 
fellow adored her, and threatened self- 
destruction if she did not marry him. 
Another was diverted in his homage by 
the fascinations of the card-table. Ap- 
proaches of others were discouraged as 
waste of the emotions. Nature had ap- 
pointed her to a single life. Her destiny 
had been predetermined from the founda- 
tion. The daughters of Erebus and Night 
were executing the decrees of Nature with 
inexorable decision. Their ministers, the 
Furies, had not been necessary ; there was 
no resistance. 

The second The second lady said that a few facts, 
simply stated, would satisfactorily account 
for her voluntary maidenhood. She was 
the eldest of five children. When she was 
only ten years old her mother became a 
hopeless invalid, and the cares of a full- 
grown woman were suddenly imposed upon 



lady. 



Self-Sacrifice I2g 

her. She gave up all — head, heart, 
hands — to her mother and brothers and 
sisters. The youngest was a mere baby, 
and you must know the constant attention 
he exacted. Her father was kind, perhaps, 
in his way ; but he was a confirmed hypo- Her father 
chondriac, forever groaning and complain- driac. 
ing of everything. God and nature were 
at enmity with him, he said. Smileless 
and discouraging, his presence was a per- 
petual blight. He never said a generous, 
inspiring thing to any one of them that 
she remembered. Unconsciously selfish, 
his whole thought was of himself and his 
imagined distresses. The looking-glass 
was his great resource in his absorbingly 
self-pitying moods. He would pull at his 
beard and penetrate the lines in his face, 
and sighingly wonder what other tortures 
were in reserve for him. Any misfortune 
or crisis in the family, instead of stimu- 
lating his humanity and sympathy, only 
increased his malady. When his wife suf- 
fered most, he was most jealous of atten- 
tions to her. He bemoaned himself and Bemoaned 
groaned, when a little bit of self-sacrifice JZZZid!* 
and tenderness would have brought sun- 
shine into the joyless household, and light- 
ened all its burdens, The baby died when 



ijo Sub-Ccelum 

he was scarcely three years old. The 
blue-eyed cherub ! His death was a great 
blow. Her cares were lessened by it ; but 
there was an aching void. A record of the 
The solemn solemn entombment was in everything 

entombment. . „ , ~ . , , . . , 

about her. Special remembrance of him 
always occasioned a pang. Strange to say, 
the death of the little fellow seemed to 
give relief to his mother, and she grew 
perceptibly better, though still bed-ridden, 
to remain so till she died. He is better 
off, she would quietly say, with a touching 
smile of self-consolation. The girl-children 
were lovely, and grew in helpfulness. 
There was nothing they would not do. 
The boy was always manly, and rapidly 
developed the most genuine traits. He 
seemed preternaturally strong and wise. 
His hopefulness and sturdy self-confidence 
gave joy to them all. He acquired and 
thought, and every day grew in intellectual 
stature. You shall see what will be done 
Pride and for you, he sometimes proudly and heroic- 
ally said. The world soon recognized his 
abilities and manhood. His advancement 
was steady and sure, and he soon ranked 
an exceptionally prosperous man. The 
desire of his great heart was realized, and 
the family at home enjoyed more and more 



heroism. 



A Generous Annuity 131 

his fostering care. The girls married gen- 
tlemen, well-to-do and generous. Their 
father was indulged and their mother 
cherished and petted. Ah! the smile oismiieo/re- 
rejoicing that illuminated her invalid face/"" 7 
after all her trials and miseries. A word 
or two more would complete all that was 
necessary to relate of her story. Her 
noble brother and grateful sisters had 
settled a generous annuity upon her ; and 
her life was as free as that of any woman 
could be. She was getting the most out of 
it that was possible to her, and she be- 
lieved she had no complaint to make of 
fortune or condition. 

The third and last spoke with a little The third 

. . r^i t • an d last- 

more spirit. Ine preceding statement 
made her own less difficult. While her 
experiences had been alike bitter, they had 
been more tragical. She also had been a 
victim of circumstances ; the miseries of 
unfortunate marriage had been indelibly 
impressed upon her. They had been 
brought home to her in a way to make her 
hesitate about accepting an attractive offer, 
in all respects promising. The marriage a marriage 
of her father and mother had been one of "don! 
blind passion or affection. Friends had 
urged a postponement, to give a little time 



/j?2 Sub-Ccelum 

for consideration ; but both were infat- 
uated, and would not live apart, even for a 
short season. Her father was handsome 
and gay ; devoted to the world and its 
pleasures ; governed without limit by his 
Appetite /or impulses. His appetite for drink in- 
creased. creased ; and indulgence soon became dis- 
sipation. Evil associations made him rude 
and reckless. He changed from what they 
called a gentleman to a brute. He abused 
his wife in outrageous ways. The narra- 
tor called attention to the mark on her 
mouth, the same exactly as the scar left 
on the lip of her mother by the heel of her 
husband, months before she was born. 
Daughter and mother with the same in- 
effaceable memorial of brutality ! Her 
father, she said, had tried to be kind to 
her sometimes while she was a child; but 
long before she became a woman every- 
thing like affection had disappeared from 
his conduct. He even hated her, as he 
did her mother. A complete transforma- 
tion had taken place. He had grown to 
Three /aces, be a monster. He seemed to have three 
rus. faces, like Cerberus, every one of them 

cruel; and each one had the remorseless 
evil eye. To get behind him, and to es- 
cape the fatal look, was impossible. He 



Moral Atmospheres 133 

saw all, and suspected more. Physician, 
clergyman, friends, male and female, were 
objects of his suspicion and jealousy. 
You talk about moral atmospheres ! Think 
of living in one of profanity and drunken- Profanity. 
ness ! Recollections of what she and her 
mother endured, terrified her. An in- 
cubus was upon their lives, asleep and 
awake. Certain demoniac noises and 
oaths came to them in ways to threaten 
reason. Pandemonium could not produce 
worse. From bad to distressing the 
wretched days continued; till one night 
the monster was brought home dead, with 
a bullet in his brain by his own hand. His 
poor, relieved, heart-broken wife survived 
him a few weeks. Her life went out in 
agony. The event of her own marriage, 
often talked over with her mother, and 
postponed at her request, would be con- 
summated in the early autumn. Her lover 
was acquainted with every circumstance of 
her life, even to the birth-mark on her lip, The birth- 
and had many times befriended her and c 
her mother at the risk of his existence. 
He was a noble fellow, and she dared hope 
for happiness the remnant of her days. 

Something like a breeze, by this time, 
was seen to ruffle the surface of the sea, 



i)4 Snb-Ccelum 

a mile away, or less. One said it was a 
school of mackerel on the way to Arcturus. 
Howbeit, they made sail ; and Zephyrus 
came gently to fill it, and bear them away 
to their several hostelries. 

drunken- Even the Sub-Ccelumites found drunken- 
ness the most stubborn of all the social 
evils. Though rare, they found it impos- 
sible to abolish it utterly. Destroying the 
effects of alcohol was like annihilating the 
archenemy. They believed implicitly with 
the poet, that the loved and hated thing 
was introduced by Satan into the tree of 
knowledge before the primal pair partook 
of it, and was attended with the same ef- 
fects that had followed it ever since. Con- 
firmed drunkenness they regarded as one 
of the most virulent of moral and physical 
diseases, and they took every pains to pro- 
tect society against it. Some idea may be 
had of their success by remembering the 
early excesses of one of the countries that 
had supplied them with much of their pop- 

a matter of ulation. They had history for it that on 
the signboards of noted gin-shops in that 
country it was announced that a customer 
might get drunk for a penny, and dead 
drunk for two-pence, and have straw for 



Early Excesses 135 

nothing. Faith was kept by providing 
cellars strewn with straw, on which the 
customer who had got his two-pennyworth 
was deposited till he was ready to recom- 
mence. Higher, socially, excesses were as 
extreme, but different. They had the state- statement 

c 1 -i °f a noble 

ment or a noble writer that he was present writer. 
at an entertainment where a celebrated 
lady of pleasure was one of the party, and 
her shoe was pulled off by a young man, 
who filled it with champagne and drank it 
off to her health. In this delicious draught 
he was immediately pledged by the rest, 
and then, to carry the compliment still 
further, he ordered the shoe itself to be 
dressed and served up for supper. The 
cook set himself to work upon it ; he 
pulled the upper part of it, which was of 
damask, into fine shreds, and tossed it 
up in a ragout ; minced the sole, cut the 
wooden heel into very thin slices, fried 
them in butter, and placed them round the 
dish for garnish. The company testified 
their affection for the lady by eating very 
heartily of the impromptu. The authorities Authorities 

J r r prompt to 

of Sub-Ccelum were prompt to grant a «*. 
divorcement of man and wife when either 
became a victim of drunkenness. Hospi- 
tals were established for confining and 



granted. 



1 36 Sub-Coelum 

treating it, not without hopeful conse- 
Licetisesto quences. Licenses to marry were not 
7Sy°" u ' granted without inquiry as to the habits 
of applicants and their progenitors. Ten- 
dency to intoxication, even, was alarming, 
and might entail itself. Prevention was 
the only sure remedy. Indeed, no short 
list of questions must be answered satis- 
factorily, under oath, before a license could 
be obtained. Drunkenness was not the 
only evil that society did its utmost to 
cure, to limit, and to prevent. Diseases 
that rot the moral and physical structure 
were searchingly hunted out and pursued 
while a visible remnant of them remained 
to taint the generations. Habitual lying, 
hypocrisy, and dishonesty were recognized 
moral diseases. A deliberate breach of 
trust was such a monstrous crime in their 
moral code that the name and blood of the 
perpetrator were not perpetuated. Society 
held itself not guiltless if it permitted the 
odium of serious crime to descend upon the 
irresponsible and innocent, to say nothing 
of possible continuance. 

While there were other legal causes of 
divorce than drunkenness, the authorities 
were slow in acting upon them. Separa- 



Must Live Together 1 37 

tions were oftener authorized than divorces. 
The theory and rule of their civilization 
were, that husband and wife must live to- 
gether, and not be long separated. Es- Estrange- 
trangement was provided against in every vided 
possible way. Trifling differences between 
married people were not patiently consid- 
ered. A custom of the olden time became 
a rule of action in their courts. When a 
quarrelsome couple applied for a divorce, 
the magistrate did not listen to them. Be- 
fore deciding upon the case, he locked 
them up for three days, in the same room, 
with one bed, one table, one plate, and one 
tumbler. Their food was passed in to 
them by attendants who neither saw nor 
spoke to them. When they came out, at 
the end of three days, neither of them 
wanted to be divorced. 

Victims of occasional intoxication were refuges 
kindly provided for by the establishment tain occa- 

- . , . SIONAL VlC- 

of Refuges, for their care and protection, tims. 
Fortunately, they were not many, and the 
wonder was they were so few, considering 
the exigencies and extremities of even 
exceptional human life, and that the vast 
majority there, as elsewhere, were gov- 
erned by their passions and emotions, and 



138 Sub-Ccelum 

not by their judgment. Reason, there, as 
everywhere, was the property of the chosen 
few. Living to-day upon the experience 
of yesterday, and so providing for the mor- 
row, if it come, was easier of philosophic 
The /acuity statement than practice. The faculty of 
inginihe continuing in the right way, without being 
once in a while turned aside by folly or 
temptation, was not given to common 
mortality: it was a rare endowment — the 
gift of God. Their stream of life, also, had 
its numberless eddies, to obstruct and hin- 
der. Caught by them, and whirled about, 
it was difficult to get themselves back into 
the current the same creatures as before, 
to enjoy again, in the same healthful way, 
the inspiration of progress. Maelstroms, 
indeed, they sometimes proved to be, 
wrecking hopelessly, if not utterly swallow- 
ing up, the moral man, in their uncondi- 
tional irresistibleness. Human wisdom, as 
they possessed it, was largely the result of 
suffering suffering and blundering. It was not given 

and blunder- 111 1 1 i 

in S . to them to know the next step but by tak- 

ing it. Discouragements and calamities 
made them timid about taking it at all. 
Business complicated and embarrassed, 
they could not always see their way to sol- 
vency. Expenses exceeding income, ruin 



The Bottle 139 

impended. Fraud victimized and paralyzed 
them. Conspiracy gave them new eyes. 
Immoralities were in danger of being ex- 
posed. Losses, one after another, seemed 
ruinous altogether. A spendthrift boy a spend- 

1 .1 a r i thrift boy. 

brought unexpected entailments. A fool- 
ish girl wounded the family pride and com- 
promised her honor. Domestic infelicity 
was possibly creating new irritations. A 
rasping voice and intrusive nose might 
never be out of his ear and affairs. Super- 
added, a dismal atmosphere, to overwhelm 
with gloom. What more natural, even in 
Sub-Ccelum, than a short cut to temporary 
relief through the bottle ? A little of the 
artificial sunshine being found good, a 
flood of it was better, and intoxication 
ensued. Days of it, probably, before dis- 
continuance was thought of. The poor 
victim — perhaps for the first time in his 
life — cares not to go home : he goes of 
preference to the Refuge, where he is 
admitted upon application ; few questions Few gues- 
are asked ; discipline is so slight as hardly 
to be felt ; he is thoughtfully let alone ; 
permitted at will to wander through the 
beautiful grounds, without molestation ; 
supplied with everything necessary to his 
comfort, in the way of food, baths, and 



140 Sub-Ccelum 

clean beds ; but not a drop of anything 

intoxicating is given to him during his 

The healing stay. The healing solitude and absolute 

solitude. - ' , c , , 

freedom, in a few days, complete his resto- 
ration. No record is made of the matter, 
and he is discharged without scrutiny or 
pledge. So little indeed is made of the 
circumstance that Gossip herself is her- 
metically dumb concerning it. 

retreats Retreats for convalescents were estab- 

for Conva- 
lescents, lished, here and there, throughout the Com- 
monwealth. People came to them from 
every part, — especially those who had 
not comfortable homes. These Retreats 
were situated in attractive places, where 
the air was the best, and where inviting ac- 
cessories could be easily provided. Trees 
were planted of the most beautiful varie- 
ties. Flowers in abundance were culti- 
Fountains vated. Fountains played, in volume and 
^voiumelnd spray, displaying rainbow colors to the 
y ' greatest advantage. Rills ran through the 
grounds in a natural manner. Ingenious 
little contrivances for entertainment were 
operated by them. Mechanical skill ex- 
erted itself to invent diminutive engines 
for all sorts of purposes. Musical instru- 
ments were made to play by the force of 



A Convolution of Rainbows 141 

the element. The prettiest little ponds 
were provided for the fishes, and for the The fishes 
birds to bathe in. Of the former, those of birds. 
every brilliant color were to be seen ; and 
of the latter, those of every quality and 
tint of plumage. In moulting time the 
birds were especially interesting. When 
the sun shone, the atmosphere, at times, 
was a convolution of rainbows. Intelli- 
gent monkeys climbed about in the trees, Life in the 
and suspended themselves by their tails. 
Grave and gay, wise and foolish, they never 
ceased to be objects of study. Record 
was made of their cunning and imitative- 
ness, and they were respected in propor- 
tion as they were known. Lessons were 
taught by the application of their powers. 
Not every man was exalted in comparison 
with them. Their ailments — much the 
same as those of their human brethren — 
were treated not empirically, but scientifi- 
cally — too much affection for them being 
felt to permit mere practice upon them ; 
besides, they might avenge themselves, — 
curious instances of the kind being of 
record in all the institutions. Milk of the mm of the 
cow and the goat and the mare was sup- goat attd the 

i« i 1 »-t->i 1 • ■mare. 

plied as needed. The cooking was exactly 
adapted to the stomachs and nerves and 



142 Sub-Ccelum 

palates of the feeble. The most delicate 
dishes were served to nourish and stimu- 
late. Sleep - producing qualities were spe- 
cially aimed at, — the belief being preva- 
lent that frequent and complete suspension 
of the functions of the hemispheres of the 
cerebrum was necessary to sound physical, 
Dmgs es. intellectual, and moral health. Drusrs were 

cluwed. , . 

eschewed, as especially for the hospital. 
Generous wine, in sufficient quantities, was 
supplied, but nothing stronger. Tea, also, 
and coffee, were forbidden, except under 
peculiar circumstances, the excessive use 
of either being held accountable for many 
idiopathic and morbid conditions. Mani- 
fold amusements were provided, — such as 
were suited to the tastes and strength of 
only healthy convalescents. Only visitors were ad- 
mitted. mitted who were healthy ; and those must 
be considerate and of stimulating effluence. 
The brooding mood and complaining habit 
were shut out as pestilential influences. 
Full veins and abounding vigor were 
welcomed as inspirations. Sickness and 
death were not subjects of conversation. 
Restoration to health being the object of 
these wise and merciful Retreats, anything 
to hinder or thwart that was scrupulously 
forbidden. Inmates must get well, and not 



Free Intercommunication 143 

expend any part of their powers, moral or 
emotional, in brooding over distresses and 
perils past and escaped. Reluctance to 
adopt cheerful moods, and to cooperate 
with wise and compassionate treatment, 
were grounds of prompt dismissal from the 
institution. 



Hospices for visiting strangers were in hospices 



all the considerable towns. They held aiNGSTRAN- 

J GERS. 

place half way between the hotel or hos- 
telry and the private home. They were 
conducted respectably but not extrava- 
gantly. The strictest cleanliness was ob- 
served, and plain food was generously fur- 
nished. There, as everywhere, pains were 
taken in the preparation of articles to be 
eaten ; nothing was spoiled in the cooking. 
Abundance of pure water was supplied for 
bathing purposes. Accessible reception 
rooms were provided. The prices charged 
were only a trifle above the cost of material 
and service. The social character and 
habits of the people required such institu- such institu- 
tions. Enjoying abundance of leisure, a quired. 
good part of their time was taken up in 
visiting, and every facility was necessary 
to free intercommunication. From town 
to town they went, singly and in parties, 



144 Sub-Ccelum 

and these Hospices were comfortable 
enough homes for them while they re- 
mained. Their friends were relieved of 
the burden of entertaining them, and never 

Absolute wearied of seeing them. The absolute 
freedom all enjoyed was favorable to hap- 
piness. Housekeepers were relieved of 
anxiety and a great part of the social pres- 
sure. It was astonishing the amount of 
pleasure received from this free inter- 
course with visiting friends and strangers. 
Nobody was embarrassed by obligation. 
All material enjoyments were paid for. 
Politenesses were voluntary, and without 
complications. Society had almost nothing 
of the debt -paying element in it. Pre- 
tenses of overwhelming gratitude and favor 
were without excuse, and were not exhib- 
ited. A thousand and one of the little 
insincerities and hypocrisies were avoided. 

Disguises Disguises, so many, were not thought to be 

not neces- . . n , , . 

sary. necessary to appear kind and hospitable. 

It was possible to look into each other's 
faces without embarrassing remembrance 
of deceits and dissimulation. Self-respect 
was less difficult when free of the burden 
of petty sins against veracity. Greater 
transparency existed in the social relation. 
Less of conduct was a mockery of con- 



Life Not a Game 145 

science and religion. Young people, es- 
pecially, were benefited by the freedom 
and liberal facilities. With the aid of the 
public Hospices they saw each other often, 
and in a catholic manner. Life was not 
so much a game with them. The sexes The sexes. 
were upon a common plane. They were 
more apt to comprehend each other, and 
be better fitted for the holy bonds. Free- 
dom from much expense and ceremony 
gave more time and better opportunity for 
consideration ; and precipitation in mar- 
riage was not the rule by any means. In 
the enlarged facilities for intelligent court- 
ing, society found important protection. 
There was less likelihood of crazy infatua- 
tion. If the suitor was not the right kind 
of gentleman, his sweetheart was pretty 
sure to know it. His conduct was more 
open to inspection, and would expose it- 
self, if not based upon trustworthiness. In 
the general interchange, outside of busi- 
ness relations, the Hospice was found 
indispensable. Greater opportunity was 
given to the offices of patriotism, charity, 
and benevolence. Society was more like a Likeagreat 
great family. By its liberal and healthful 
intercourse, its civic and social virtues 
were perpetually nourished. 



146 Sub-Ccelum 

inventors Inventors and scholars, in a pecuniary 
and schol- sense> were not a p t to ^ e more prosperous 

there than elsewhere, and so were relieved 
of many ordinary burdens. Society, hav- 
ing been benefited by their labors, was 
willing to compensate them as it could. 
In cases where they had grown old and 
poor special provision was made for them. 
Especially they were preferred for any 
public service they could perform. Con- 
sidering the great intellectual activity, the 
wonder was there were not more that re- 
quired assistance. The proverbial unthrift 
characterizing the purely intellectual 
classes they had their share of, but no 
more. You heard the same incidents 
of innocency of the arts of trade that 
literature has been recording ever since 
living and language began to improve. 
How, while they were evolving great 
cheated of thoughts, they were cheated of their 
mes. pennies. The same old instances of for- 

getfulness of self and material interests 
that ignorance is forever quoting to fortify 
its self-conceit. A man had actually died 
while reading a proof-sheet of great astro- 
nomical researches, when not a crumb to 
eat was found in his lodgings ! Defective, 
half-made creature, of course, not to pro- 



Incompatibles 14J 

vide properly for his stomach ! Jones, who 
had a great estate, did not care for con- 
stellations and comets. Smith had accu- 
mulated, and hardly knew how to read ! 
What of all the host of stars? Cabbages what of au 
did not grow better for all the knowledge stars? ° 
of them. Incompatibles, they said, were 
thrift and scholarship and scientific inves- 
tigation. Intelligence understood the mat- 
ter better, and provided in many ways 
for neglects and omissions. When manu- 
facturers made great fortunes by utilizing 
great inventions, whatever the terms or 
circumstances of purchase, they did not 
forget the inventors. If they did not re- 
member them fittingly and substantially, 
Government prompted them by significant 
means. They were required to furnish 
money or employment — assistance to the 
inventor being as far as possible in just 
proportion to the pecuniary value of the 
invention. Publishers, in case of unex- 
pected large sales of publications, were ex- 
pected and required to further share their 
profits with authors, if necessitous. The The prevail. 
prevailing sense of justice amongst appre- /*«//». 
ciating people did not permit a neglect of 
classes preeminently worthy. Conscience 
was wide awake in such cases. 



148 



Sttb-Ccelum 



Old People 
and Chil- 



Religion 
more than 
skin-deep. 



Very few old people or children were 
objects of public charity. The humanity 
of the people and their religion were 
against it, except in cases of direst extrem- 
ity. Affection was more than water, and 
provided for its own. No greater disgrace 
could fall upon a man than by the neglect 
of the old or the young of his own blood. 
Whatever the exigencies, relief generally 
came from the natural source. Families 
were not so large but that room might be 
made for one person more, in extremity. 
The aged were guarded and comforted by 
their children or children's children — 
by their relatives, immediate or remote. 
Degrees of relationship were not counted 
when suffering presented. Blood was not 
denied in any condition of indigence or 
affliction. It flowed and interfused un- 
consciously on occasions of calamity. Re- 
ligion — more than mere words, and more 
than skin-deep — delighted in self-sacrifice. 
The helpless were helped as a religious 
privilege, and the burden was not shunned 
nor calculated. The Founder of their 
religion was the poorest of the poor, and 
the religion He founded was for the poor 
especially. Hungry and thirsty, He went 
about doing good, though rejected and 



Nature and Art 149 

despised. He was love and self-sacrifice 
incarnated. Pitiful, shameless followers, 
who deserted their own blood, in poverty 
or wretchedness. 

The most beautiful spots in Sub-Ccelum bumal- 
were the burial-places. The celestial vis- 
itant, hovering over, must have been 
charmed by their attractiveness. Nature 
and Art did their utmost to beautify them. 
Grounds were chosen for their diversity 
and irregularity. What Art did was only 
to assist Nature : not a thing was done to 
show her tricks and fantasies. Hills and 
valleys in abundance, little was left to the 
-landscape-gardener but to adorn them 
naturally. The native forest was little dis- 
turbed. Additional trees and shrubs were 
planted to give greater variety. Exuber- 
ant vines crept and climbed about in fan- 
tastic ways. Perennial plants and flowers Perennial 
were everywhere in view, and different at flowers. 
every turn. Exotics were cultivated where 
not too much labor and expense were in- 
volved, and where they did not give a look 
of too great artificialness. Particular pains 
were taken in the cultivation of plants and 
shrubs the leaves of which emitted pleasant 
perfumes ; rosemary, lavender, sweet-brier, 



i $o Sub-Ccelum 

and the like ; which, upon the slightest touch 
or disturbance, filled the air with delicious 
odors. Roses, roses, were everywhere ; 
and pinks, too, in great abundance. Sin- 
uous roads and walks ran in and about 
TJieiineof bewilderingly. The line of beauty was 

beauty con- . 

spicuous. conspicuous. The birds delighted to dwell 
in these enchanting places : they were fed 
and cherished in every hospitable and 
affectionate way. Squirrels of many varie- 
ties were perfectly domesticated, and added 
greatly to the general animation. They 
came down out of the trees to be noticed 
and petted. The children they delighted 
to run over, searchingly and caressingly. 
Names were given to the prettiest, and 
when they died they were mounted or de- 
cently buried. These lovely burial-places 
were freely visited by everybody without 
Noembar- distinction. No embarrassing rules or 
rules. by-laws were placarded on the gate-posts 

or elsewhere. No scrutinizing look was 
given by officer or lodge-keeper at the en- 
trance. It was only expected that the 
sacred place be not made a haunt, and that 
good behavior would characterize the con- 
duct of the visitor, such as enlightenment 
and good feeling would suggest as befit- 
ting. The public was encouraged to go to 



Death Leveled All 151 

the beautiful cemeteries for their civiliz- 
ing, refining, and moral influence. If an 
adult or half-grown person misbehaved in 
one of the resting-places of their dead, 
he was uncivilized, and hardly responsible. 
Breaches of good conduct were so rare as Breaches of 
to be historical. Their religion taught im- ££*.*** uc 
mortality, and that death was but emanci- 
pation. Believing that they began to be 
here what they were to be hence — that 
they made their future in this world and 
took it with them to the next, they felt 
the responsibility of living ; and anything 
that tended to increase that feeling was 
religiously encouraged. 

There was little distinction exhibited in little dis- 
marking the graves. The stone-cutter was marking 
not required to be an artist. Costly tombs 
and monuments were not in fashion. The 
graveyard was considered a poor place to 
draw the lines upon penury. Wealth was 
too considerate to display itself in places 
of the dead. Fortunes were not expended 
in commemorative columns and shafts. 
Ambitious display stopped short of the 
tomb. The poorest man was not reminded 
there of his indigence — grandeur did not 
mock him at the grave. Death leveled all. 



152 Sub-CceluM 

Sensibility might show itself, but not cash. 
Adornments were such as affection sug- 
gested to thoughtfulness and refinement. 
Any one might embellish a grave. Plants, 
flowers, a modest stone, intelligent care, 
Were not costly. Simplicity and tender- 
ness gave greatest distinction. Birds were 
sometimes lured, by ingenious and affec- 
tionate means, to nest on the graves. 
Broods of the same pair successively took 
Emblems of wing — emblems of immortality. Flowers 
uy. grew better by the tears dropped upon 

them, and the fragrance they exhaled was 
super-terrestrial. Little evidences of af- 
fection and remembrance were everywhere 
to be seen. Lettered phrases were touch- 
ing to read. Memorial verses from time 
to time were found in the grass. In every 
imaginable way the deep humanity and 
profound religious sentiment expressed 
themselves in these sacred places. At the 
Nothing same time, nothing gloomy or dreadful 
dre°ad/td r was suggested. Remembrances of the 
dead were quite as apt to be joyful as dis- 
tressing. Pleasant things of them were 
rehearsed, and they lived again, and 
were reen joyed. Children felt themselves 
nearer their lost parents by cheerfully re- 
viewing their kindnesses and self-sacrifice. 



The Common Lot 153 

Parents forgot themselves in agreeable 
reminiscences of their children. The best 
was remembered as most apt to be perpet- 
uated ; the regretted was buried with the 
dust. The common distinctions were for- Commondis- 
gotten in these cities of the dead. Costly fTrgouln. 
improvements in roads and chapels were 
directed by the general management. 
Opulence was arm-in-arm with indigence 
in the enjoyment of the pervading beauty, 
and nothing existed to suggest any dis- 
parity. In the park or in the public gar- 
dens grandeur might display itself, but not 
among the graves, where all humanity was 
common dust. Not that pride aped hu- 
mility : it was humiliated indeed by the 
thoughtful consciousness of the common 
lot. 

Neither were ostentatious funerals in funerals. 
vogue in Sub-Ccelum. They did not com- 
port with the prevailing ideas of propriety. 
It had been a great many years since any- 
thing of the kind had occurred there. Sim- 
plicity, rather than display, characterized 
the burial of the dead. Any appearance 
of vanity or vain show, in connection with 
death, had come to be regarded as more or 
less barbaric. Costly equipage and con- 



154 Sub-Ccelum 

spicuously fine dress had long since been 

tabooed. In one of the countries from 

which a great part of their population was 

Ostentation descended, ostentatious and expensive 

notihe funerals had been the rule. They had 

rule. . , 

record of one, where the procession was a 
mile long, and walked sixteen miles to the 
place of burial. Every variety of refresh- 
ment was served, and over five hundred 
gallons of whiskey were consumed. Sim- 
ple religious services at the house of the 
deceased were customary, attended by the 
family and their friends, and such acquaint- 
ances as were invited. The remains then 
passed into the hands of the director, and 
were quietly conveyed to the cemetery, 
accompanied by a few near friends. The 
face of the poor dead human body was not 
exposed to the multitude at any time. Cu- 
riosity was not gratified in so indelicate 
and rude a way. Mourning, in the sense 
of outside manifestation, was rarely exhib- 
Their cheer- ited. Their cheerful views of life, here 

ful views of 

We- and hereafter, led them to accept the in- 

evitable resignedly and hopefully. They 
could not account for this existence with- 
out a belief in a better to succeed it. Fi- 
delity and purity and humanity in this, 
would be followed by felicity in that. It 



Display Avoided 155 

was a faith they all had, without qualifica- 
tion. Expense they avoided as far as prac- 
ticable. They regarded the occasion of 
death as not a fit one for the display of this This world's 

. ., . ~ . . ,. possessions. 

world s possessions. Good in their way, 
they were not to be compared with the 
priceless abundance promised to the 
worthy. Besides, their delicate sense did 
not permit them to exceed the average in 
expensiveness at the last hour. Penury 
was not to be reminded of its limitations 
by prodigality. It was a common thing for 
neighbors to bear each other to the burial- 
place, and to dig each others' graves. 

In every considerable burial-place there chapels in 

, ,. .1 BuRIAL- 

was a convenient and commodious chapel, places. 
adapted to religious and other exercises 
connected with the dead. There the sealed 
caskets containing the remains of persons 
well known were frequently placed, and for 
a time opportunity was given to the public 
for free expression upon the lives and ser- 
vices of the deceased. The general intelli- 
gence and readiness of speech, with the 
prevailing habit of reflection, made these 
occasions particularly interesting and im- 
pressive. The utmost propriety and so- 
lemnity were observed. Sometimes elabo- 



156 Sub-Ccelutn 

rate orations were delivered ; but generally 
remarks were spontaneous and unpremedi- 
tated and brief. Incidents of the life that 
was ended, illustrating its character, were 
related in a natural, conversational way. 

Foibies for- Foibles were forgotten in the generous 
consideration of aims. So much that was 
good was found to be said, that disparage- 
ment had no voice. It was not remem- 
bered when an uncharitable thing had been 
uttered on any one of these occasions. 
The people were too wise to expect perfec- 
tion in any human life, and too considerate, 
if not too good, to cherish memories of 
common errors and occasional lapses from 
strictest rectitude. Analyses of character, 
while often acute, were always kindly and 
forgiving. It was surprising how the 
strong light of observation brought out the 
virtues. A man, thought by the casual 
beholder to be hard and ungenerous, ap- 
peared, in the judgment and knowledge of 
his friends, a just and self-sacrificing citi- 
zen. So far from being selfish, there was 
nothing he would not have done for others, 

ungracious- without advertising it. Ungraciousness of 

ness of man- . . . c . 

ner. manner was his misfortune. A poor man, 

the victim of his appetites, appeared a no- 
ble fellow in instances where he had risked 



Essential Unselfishness 157 

his life for the helpless. His depravity had 
exhausted itself upon himself. Tributes to 
his humanity and essential unselfishness 
were in hearts without tongues to express 
them. An eminently proud man to super- 
ficial apprehension, in the flood of truth 
poured upon him, seemed only the self- oniythesei/. 
respecting gentleman. His pride indeed J^SSl 
was lost in his profound integrity. An 
unfortunate woman, a martyr to her 
beauty, who had incurred the odium of her 
sex by certain irregularities, lay one day in 
this house of the dead, as might be thought- 
lessly supposed, for condemnation. Far 
from it. The silence of the tomb was 
broken by feminine sobs, and the best of 
her sex repeated, He that is without sin 
among you, let him first cast a stone at 
her. The whole house rose responsively, 
and passed out, one by one, touched by the 
spirit of the Master. Men and women, 
conspicuous by their acts of patriotism and 
humanity, received their just tribute. But 
nothing fulsome escaped the lips of any Nothing fui 

x . • i i rr some escaped 

one. It was considered a great offense to the ups of 
say of the dead what could not be truth- 
fully said of any living human being. Acts 
were recognized and appreciated ; but mo- 
tives were not discussed. 



158 Sub-Ccelum 

motives. In that land of intelligence, observation, 
and introspection, it was profoundly real- 
ized that an attempt by law-makers to 
define motives, and by judges to punish 
them, would be puzzling occupation. To 
the self-observant Sub-Ccelumite nothing 
interesting was more interesting and surprising than 
ing. his own, as they appeared to himself, and 

as they were interpreted by others. Often 
they seemed wholly beyond his comprehen- 
sion or control. They were prompted he 
did not always know how nor why, and 
would lead him he could not tell where. 
Their meanness often humiliated him, and 
he used the utmost caution and careful- 
ness to conceal them. His complacency 
was only preserved by a consciousness of 
the world's ignorance of them. Better 
motives than the real ones were often 
Botksatir. attributed to him, which both satirized 
dipped ^ and dignified his conduct. His greatest 
achievements often sprang from motives 
so insignificant that he would have been 
ashamed to acknowledge them. His ap- 
parent and exemplary virtues would have 
lost much of their effect if the secret vices 
which alarmed them into exercise were ex- 
posed. Worse motives were also found 
for his conduct than ever entered his heart, 



his conduct. 



The Protecting Statute 159 

the possession of which would have made 
him a different man. If conspicuous good 
to others resulted from an act meant pri- 
marily to benefit himself, his sagacious His saga- 

, , n - , . , , cious benevo- 

benevolence was praised and his character unce 
accepted a model. If wrong was inci- 
dentally or intentionally done his neighbor 
through his neighbor's simplicity or igno- 
rance, his conscience was soothed by the 
protecting statute. He had been annoyed 
by an ostentatious recognition and acknow- 
ledgment of acts, with a parade of assumed 
systematic intentions, when the real ones 
so spontaneously sprang from his humanity 
that design or calculation was impossible. 
Their intrinsic goodness was so disparaged 
and obscured by misinterpretation and 
flaunting that their promising fruit was 
stinted in the growth. The sweeter virtues, 
crushed into life, are embarrassed by being 
displayed. The silent tear which attends 
their birth drops away in shame at being 
discovered. 



There were professional funeral orators, funeral 
and writers of obituary notices, whose ser- andObL 
vices were frequently solicited. Facts and ticks. 
incidents supplied them were responsibly 
employed, simply or elaborately as re- 



160 Sub-Ccelum 

quested. Where the character justified it, 

acute and thorough analysis was made. 

When connected in any conspicuous way 

Actsar- with the public, acts were arrayed and 

rayed and . . 

events por- events portrayed to impress its value and 

trayed. r , \ , 

usefulness. A good man appeared better 
by the recital of enterprises of which he 
was an important part. Where his suc- 
cesses fell short of his aims, cooperation 
was found wanting. His wise and benevo- 
lent projects had to wait for favorable con- 
ditions and sympathizing coadjutors. The 
truth of men and women was told without 
exaggeration or adulation. Whatever of 
religion was in the life was shown in the 
portrayal of its enthusiastic humanity and 
self-sacrifice. What better could be said 
of it than that it employed and . exhausted 
a good itself in the service of others ? A good 
woman, who had bred a large family, and 
led a long life of devotion and self-sacri- 
fice, worn out by care, and weary of her 
burdens, came at length to what was sup- 
posed to be her deathbed. A clergyman 
thought it to be his duty to call upon her. 
He asked her if she had made her peace 
with her Maker ; to which she replied that 
she was not aware that there had been any 
trouble. Cases like this were used to 



Tongue Charity 161 

illustrate the possible in right directions. 
Words were slightly estimated in compari- words in 
son with acts. Canting pretension was SS" 
silently buried ; for what was to be said of 
emptiness and tongue charity merely? 
Lives were better than professions. In 
funeral orations and obituary notices were 
kindly presented realities ; ideals were in- 
ferred or suggested. Embodiments of 
practical virtue and religion stood forth. 
Standards of conduct were animated by 
personal illustration, more impressive than 
didactic instruction. 

As before said, every one had his voca- vocation 
tion and avocation, into which he carried tion. 
his enthusiasms. By the former he made 
his money ; in the latter he gratified his 
tastes. Special occupations were numer- 
ous, and hobbies also. Favorite objects of 
pursuit gave full employment to particular 
faculties. It was expected, in the prevail- 
ing mental activity, and dishonor of idle- 
ness, that every intelligent person would 
have some appropriate diversion, befitting 
his abilities and imagination. Men and 
women were made more interesting by 
these worthy pastimes, and were rarely 
humdrum or commonplace. Their minds, 



1 62 Sub-Ccelum 

so to speak, had their little holy of holies, 
with windows toward heaven, into which 
they entered in best moods, and recreated 

Duii they their powers. Dull they could not be, 
' stirred so often into definite, ennobling 
action. It might be only an insect the en- 
thusiast gave his hours of leisure to ; but 
it was an object of creation, and stimulated 
him. Observation was discovery, and led 
him into ever-widening fields, and away 
from the beaten track. Absorbed by his 
hobby, he was respectful and hospitable 
to that of his neighbor. He did not apply 
the epithet hobbyhorsical to any special 
enthusiasm. He was not found among the 
dogmatists or satirists. He realized the 
limits to knowledge, and honored every 
effort to transcend them. He had been 
mistaken, and would be again and again. 
He had laughed, but oftenest through ig- 

Awedby norance. If wise enough to understand, 

understand- ,,,., i -r» i • • i 

ing. he had been awed. Realizing that men 

are most apt to believe what they least 
comprehend, he did not require the last 
fact to give credence. He could disbelieve 
upon ultimate testimony. Inconsistency 
or apostasy did not affright him. Modest 
in his beliefs and disbeliefs, bigotry was 
impossible to him. 



Jupiter and Juno's Wedding 163 
These patient and enthusiastic students Students 

. , . - . . . in Particu- 

m particular lines had many opportunities lar lines. 
to contribute of their knowledge to the 
public. They were encouraged to give fre- 
quent lectures and demonstrations, which 
were always numerously attended, and at- 
tentively and sympathizingly received. In- 
deed, these learned talks and exhibitions Learned 

. . . . , talks andex- 

constituted their highest amusements, hibitiom. 
They were illustrated in every attractive 
and ingenious way, and were comprehen- 
sible even to the children. The public were 
proud of these special investigators, who 
worked for love, and for the general good, 
and were more than glad to sit reverently 
at their feet and learn of them. The com- 
monest subjects and objects in the hands of 
these enlightened enthusiasts became more 
interesting than any fiction. Crawling and 
flying things, despised by the common, ap- 
peared indeed wonderful in the flash of light 
ingeniously poured upon them. They say 
that when Jupiter and Juno's wedding was 
solemnized of old, the gods were all m- The gods in. 
vited to the feast, and many noble men be- " '" 
sides. Amongst the rest came Chrysalus, 
an Oriental prince, bravely attended, rich 
in golden attires, in gay robes, with a ma- 
jestical presence, but otherwise a very in- 



1 64 Sub-Ccelutn 

ferior creature. The gods, seeing him in 
such pomp and state, rose up to give him 
place ; but Jupiter perceiving what he was, 
Turned into a light, fantastic, idle fellow, turned him 
and his proud followers into butterflies ; 
and so they continue still, mythology de- 
clares, roving about in pied coats, and are 
called chrysalides by the wiser sort of men. 
These winged worms, in the hands of a 
master who had intelligently and zealously 
studied them, were made more interesting 
than any Eastern prince in all his splendor 
of attire and pomp of retinue. Of the 
more than seven hundred species in one 
small province, he presented you the most 
beautiful varieties, in all their gorgeous- 
ness and bewilderment of color. En- 
larged by the camera, they appeared of 
enormous proportions — more gigantic 
wings of than the fabled roc. The wings of certain 
C cL? m e species, covered on both sides with imbri- 
cated scales or feathers, to the unassisted 
eye presenting the appearance of dust or 
powder, under the microscope they dis- 
played an arrangement as uniform and 
characteristic of species as that of the 
scales of fishes and the feathers of birds. 
He told you that in a piece of mosaic work 
there might be nine hundred separate 



Metamorphoses 165 

pieces in an inch square, while the same 
extent of surface in a butterfly's wing con- 
tained from one hundred thousand to nine 
hundred thousand of these wing-scales or 
feathers. You saw the despised caterpil- The despised 
lar in all his metamorphoses, from the ca erpt a 
process of hatching — eagerly eating, eat- 
ing, growing prodigiously, changing its 
skin several times, evacuating his intes- 
tines, suspending himself by a little rope 
of silk to the under surface of a leaf, ap- 
pearing, after other mysterious changes, 
the perfect butterfly, sipping honey from 
the flowers, like his cousin the humming- 
bird ; reproducing himself and dying, like 
every other thing of mortality. At the 
theatre and the circus the people were not 
amused and profited as they were at these 
astonishing platform exhibitions. They 
laughed, and were wonderstruck. 

Even the pestilent, friendless rat was the substance 
theme of discourse at one of these popular ture. 
assemblages. The humane investigator 
had made a particular study of the animal, 
and surprised his audience with the num- 
ber and character of his facts and obser- 
vations — original and from authentic 
sources. The nature and qualities of the 



1 66 



Sub-Codum 



Incident re- 
lated by a 
clergyman. 



A kindred 
circum- 
stance. 



creature were presented in a manner to 
excite astonishment and sympathy. At 
the risk of being considered tedious, some 
of his facts and anecdotes are repeated. 
He related an incident communicated by a 
clergyman, to prove that the detested ro- 
dent shows a consideration and care for its 
elders on the march which was worthy of 
human philanthropy. Walking out in some 
meadows one evening, he observed a great 
number of rats migrating from one place 
to another. He stood perfectly still, and 
the whole assemblage passed close to him. 
His astonishment, however, was great 
when he saw amongst the number an old 
blind rat, which held a piece of stick at one 
end in its mouth, while another had hold of 
the other end of it and thus conducted its 
blind companion. A kindred circumstance 
was witnessed by a surgeon's mate. Ly- 
ing awake one evening in his berth, he saw 
a rat enter, look cautiously round, and re- 
tire. He soon returned, leading a second 
rat, who seemed to be blind, by the ear. 
A third rat joined them shortly afterwards, 
and assisted the original conductor in pick- 
ing up some fragments of biscuit and 
placing them before their infirm parent, as 
the blind old patriarch was supposed to be. 



A Necessity of his Existence i6y 

Incredible as the story might appear of 
their removing hens' eggs by one fellow 
lying on his back and grasping tightly his 
ovoid burden with his fore paws, whilst his 
comrades drag him away by the tail, he had 
no reason to disbelieve it, knowing as he 
did that they would carry eggs from the ingenious 
bottom to the top of a house, lifting them 
from stair to stair, the first rat pushing 
them up on its hind and the second lifting 
them with its fore legs. They would ex- 
tract the contents from a flask of oil, dip- 
ping in their long tails, and repeating the 
manoeuvre until they had consumed every 
drop. He had found lumps of sugar in 
deep drawers, at a distance of thirty feet 
from the place where the petty larceny was 
committed ; and a friend of his saw a rat 
mount a table on which a drum of figs was 
placed and straightway tip it over, scatter- 
ing its contents on the floor beneath, where 
a score of his expectant brethren sat watch- 
ing for the windfall. The propensity of the a propensity 

. explained. 

rat to gnaw, he said, should not be attri- 
buted altogether to a reckless determina- 
tion to overcome impediments. The never- 
ceasing action of his teeth was not a 
pastime, but a necessity of his existence. 
It was explained : the rat had formidable 



1 68 Sub-Ccelum 

weapons in the shape of four small, long, 
and very sharp teeth, two of which were in 
the upper and two in the lower jaw. These 

in a* shape were formed in the shape of a wedge, and 
had always a fine, sharp, cutting edge. On 
examining them carefully, it was found 
that the inner part was of soft, ivory-like 
composition, which might be easily worn 
away, whereas the outside was composed 
of a glass-like enamel, which was exces- 
sively hard. The upper teeth worked ex- 
actly into the under, so that the centres of 
the opposed teeth met exactly in the act 
of gnawing ; the soft part was thus being 
perpetually worn away, while the hard part 
kept a sharp, chisel-like edge ; at the same 
time the teeth grew from the bottom, so 
that as they wore away a fresh supply was 
ready. In consequence of this peculiar 
arrangement, if one of the teeth be re- 

Effectofre- moved, either by accident or on purpose, 
the opposed tooth would continue to grow, 
and, as there would be nothing to grind 
it away, it would project from the mouth 
and turn upon itself ; or, if it were an un- 
der tooth, it would even run into the skull 
above. There was a preparation in one 
of the museums which perfectly illustrated 
the fact. It was an incisor tooth of a rat, 



Simulation i6g 

which, from the cause mentioned, had 
increased its growth to such a degree, 
that it had formed a complete circle and 
a segment of another; the diameter was 
about large enough to admit a good-sized 
thumb. He once saw a newly killed rat 
to whom this misfortune had occurred. 
The tooth, which was an upper one, had curious 
in this case also formed a complete circle, 
and the point, in winding round, had passed 
through the lip of the animal. Thus the 
ceaseless working of the rat's incisors 
against some hard substance was necessary 
to keep them down, and if he did not gnaw 
for his subsistence he would be compelled 
to gnaw to prevent his jaw being gradu- 
ally locked by their rapid development. 
He quoted from a traveler, whose dogs set 
upon a rat, and making them relinquish 
it, he took it up by the tail, the dogs leap- 
ing after it the whole time. He carried it 
into his dining-room to examine it by the 
light of the lamp, during the whole of 
which period it remained as if it were dead, Feigned 
— limbs hanging, and not a muscle moving. 
After five minutes he threw it among the 
dogs, who were still in a great state of 
excitement, and, to the astonishment of all 
present, it suddenly jumped upon its legs, 



I jo Stib-Ccelum 

and ran away so fast that it baffled all its 
pursuers. The sagacity of the animal in 
craftiness eluding danger was not less than his crafti- 
with danger, ness in dealing with it when it came. A 
gentleman who fed his own pointers ob- 
served, through a hole in the door, a num- 
ber of rats eating from the trough with his 
dogs, who did not attempt to molest them. 
Resolving to shoot the intruders, he next 
day put the food, but kept out the dogs. 
Not a rat came to taste. He saw them 
peering from their holes, but they were too 
well versed in human nature to venture 
forth without the protection of their canine 
guard. After half an hour the pointers 
were let in, when the rats forthwith joined 
their hosts, and dined with them as usual. 
Even with his great natural enemy and su- 
perior, the ferret, he would sometimes get 
the advantage by his steady bravery and 
Enemies in the superiority of his tactics. A rat and a 

a room to- c . . . 

gether. ferret were turned loose in a room without 
furniture, in which there was but one win- 
dow. Immediately upon being liberated 
the rat ran round the room as if searching 
for an exit. Not finding any means of 
escape, he uttered a piercing shriek, and 
with the most prompt decision took up his 
station directly under the light, thus gain- 



Advantage of the Sun iyi 

ing over his adversary — to use the lan- 
guage of the duelists — the advantage of 
the sun. This advantage he managed to 
keep all through the conflict ; when the 
gentleman, to prove whether the choice of 
this position depended upon accident, dis- Not there- 

i • • s *dt of acci- 

lodged the rat and took his own station dent. 
under the window; but the moment 
the ferret attempted to make his ap- 
proach, the rat, evidently aware of the 
advantage he had lost, endeavored to creep 
between the gentleman's legs, thus losing 
his natural fear of man under the danger 
which awaited him from his more deadly 
foe. A number of rats had got into a 
basket of grapes, and devoured a consider- 
able part of the contents. The man who 
discovered them replaced the basket, in 
hopes that they would again visit it and 
be caught ; but the wary animals never wariness. 
again came to the basket in which they 
had been detected. They were so numer- 
ous and so bold that they used to come and 
pick up the crumbs from between the 
men's feet as they sat at meals. Wishing 
for a shot at some of them, one of the men 
dropped a few grains of corn on the 
ground, and took up his position, gun in 
hand. Soon one rat bounded across the 



iy2 Sub-Coelum 

space as if in great alarm ; but no rat 
touched a grain of the corn, which was ex- 
posed for several days and nights, being at 
last crushed and lost by the passing of feet 
and vehicles. Rats were numerous in the 
Exhibitions pig-sties, and ate with the pigs, one of 
which was turned out of her sty, and a 
trap-door was contrived to close the trough 
by pulling a cord. The trough was baited 
with good maize, of which they were very 
fond ; but neither by day nor by night 
would a rat venture there as long as the 
pig was excluded. Returning the pig to 
the sty, the rats also returned. A similar 
case was related in which the rats were so 
many and so bold that they forced them- 
selves into the troughs, would not be 
driven away, and consumed no small 
amount of the food which ought to have 
gone to the pigs. The owner of the pigs 
then laid a gun so as to rake the trough, 
turned out the pigs, and had the trough 
Not one filled as usual. Not a rat would make its 
pearance. appearance ; and at last the pigs were put 
back, when the rats came trooping in as 
numerous and as bold as ever. In a gen- 
tleman's garden was a conservatory along 
the roof of which was trained a vine on 
which the fruit would not ripen ; so he had 



The Gardener's Discovery iy$ 

the vine inclosed in a glass frame, in the 
hope that, the heat being confined, the 
grapes would ripen better than when ex- 
posed to the night air. The plan was suc- 
cessful, and he had a plentiful crop of 
large-sized bunches. These, however, be- The big 

-, • • i i lunches dis- 

gan to disappear very quickly as soon as appeared. 
ripe, but not bunch by bunch, as would be 
done by thieves, but only the ripest grapes 
of each bunch were taken. The gardener, 
when lying on his back for rest after cut- 
ting a lot of branches, heard a scuffling 
sort of sound, and looking round saw five 
or six large rats come into the frame ; they 
then jumped up at the lowest hanging 
branches and managed to knock down two 
or three grapes, which they proceeded to 
eat like a squirrel, sitting up on their hind 
legs and holding the fruit in their front 
paws. Soon after a large female, followed a iar g e/e- 
by four young ones, came in, and the old /ouryLng 

1 i • rr r ■> ones ' 

one ran up the vine and bit on one of the 
ripest bunches, which fell down to the ex- 
pecting young ones below, who fastened 
on it and began to eat. The gardener 
could not keep his laugh, but shouted out, 
which sent them all away, as if a dog were 
after them. A lady living in the country 
had her attention drawn one day to some 



rescue. 



1J4 Sub-Ccelum 

rats in an outer room, surrounding a pail 
which had been prepared for the pigs. 
Observing them carefully, she soon discov- 
ered that a young rat had fallen into the 
pail, and that his friends, to the number of 
five or six, were in consultation as to the 

Meam o/ best means of rescuing him. The lady 
called others of her family to witness their 
manoeuvres, while they continued busily 
at work, regardless of the presence of 
the spectators. By twining their feet 
together — the hind feet of the foremost 
rat being entwined with the fore feet 
of the next, and so on — they formed a 
chain extending over the side of the pail. 
The foremost rat, supposed to be the 
mother, then reached down, grasped the 
young one in her paws, and both were 
drawn out on the floor. Unfortunately, 
their deliberations had occupied so much 
time that the young rat was drowned be- 
fore he was extricated, and apparently the 
intelligence of his friends did not extend 

Resuscita. so far as to attempt resuscitation. Three 

tion not at- . . . - 

tempted. persons were looking over a garden at sun- 
set, when a rat appeared near a stone wall ; 
then another and another, until five had 
assembled, the fifth and last dragging a 
dead rat. A council then seemed to be 



A Novel Burial 175 

held. Then four of them took the foot of 
their dead companion and drew the body 
to a place where the earth was soft. The Tke fifth 
fifth dug a grave with his head and feet, ugagrave ' 
the depth being sufficient to allow the 
earth to cover the body. The four after- 
ward assisted in covering it up, leaving the 
tail of the deceased out of the ground. 
With a touch of humor, the humane natu- 
ralist so far departed from his loved theme 
as to wind up his interesting hour-and-a- 
half's talk by referring to the suggestive 
instance of a mouse and a scorpion being 
put under a glass together. The mouse 
was immediately stung by the scorpion, and 
to all appearances mortally. It remained 
for some time in a kind of lethargy ; but 
on a sudden it collected its strength, and, 
as in a fit of frenzy, fell upon the scorpion, 
killed it, and eat its body entirely up, leav- 
ing nothing but the claws. The moment 
it had swallowed the scorpion the swelling 
disappeared ; no signs of pain remained, 
and the poor animal was set at liberty, in 
great health and spirits. Similia similibus 
curantur. 



The microscope and the camera were of microscope 
great service to specialists of every descrip- era. 



ij6 Sub-Ccelum 

tion. The revelations of the former ex- 
ceeded all expectation or calculation. It 
had been improved until an expert was no 
longer necessary to adjust it. Intelligent 
children children, even, made free use of it. With 

made dis- . . . , - . 

coveries. their sharp eyes they were constantly mak- 
ing discoveries and noting them. In many 
houses a room was set apart to microscopy. 
Specimens without end accumulated in 
them. Habits of observation were formed, 
and elevated thinking was encouraged. It 
was not possible for a man to be groveling 
and mean whose mind had been trained to 
atomic observation of nature. No matter 
what his occupation might be, his diver- 
sion made him totally forget it. He was 
with God in his wonders — lifted out of 
himself for the time being to a sphere 
supremely above craft and handicraft. At 
his bench in the shop the artisan's fore- 
head might be gloomily contracted, and 
his face appear expressionless ; but speak 
to him of his loved diversion, and his brow 

countenance lifted, and his countenance was illuminated. 

noted. Cases were frequently made known where 
character had been completely changed by 
the adoption of an elevating hobby. Du- 
ality was a recognized principle. Tastes 
for the sensual and devilish were put aside, 



The Indian Summer iyy 

and finally wholly displaced, by pure and 
exalting enthusiasms. The camera was 
hardly less wonderful than the microscope 
in its discoveries and revelations. Difficul- Difficulties 

, . , r i t i • surmounted. 

ties which for so many years had been in- 
surmountable by the operator and experi- 
menter had been overcome by superior 
methods. Photographs in colors were 
common achievements. One color was 
not more difficult to the camera than an- 
other. Effects, indeed, were heightened, 
as in the Claude Lorraine mirror. Slight 
color in the cheek became roseate in the 
picture. Draperies were improved in like 
proportion. Fabrics appeared finer and 
richer. Colors were reproduced with su- 
per-accuracy. Flowers did not lose much 
by transfer to sensitized paper. The au- 
tumnal forest, in all its colors, contracted 
to a little space, bloomed and glowed like Glowed like 
a great verbena-bed, with the Indian Sum- bena-bed. 
mer haze enveloping it and the still land- 
scape. Ah ! that wonderful Sub-Coelum 
season, as one of their great poets de- 
scribed it ! The stillness of the landscape 
in that beautiful time was as if the planet 
were sleeping, like a top, before it began to 
rock with the storms of autumn. All na- 
tures seemed to find themselves more truly 



iy8 Sub-Ccelum 

in its light ; love grew more tender, reli- 
gion more spiritual, memory saw farther 
back into the past, grief revisited its mossy 
marbles, the poet harvested the ripe 
thoughts which he would tie in sheaves of 
verses by his winter fireside. 

electri- Electricity was in general use for all 

CITY. . 

sorts of purposes, especially for transporta- 
tion and communication. It was applied 
to every kind of vehicle, and to every kind 
of machinery. Bicycles, tricycles, and four 
and six-wheeled carriages, of every de- 
scription, were moved by it. They ran 
about noiselessly, as if propelled by the 
wind. Even the air was traversed by 
ingeniously contrived vehicles, or balloons. 
Like the condor, they did not ascend 
easily or rapidly, but when once up, they 
sailed away like floating clouds or flying 
birds, in horizontal curves and straight 
Above the lines. Above the spires and steeples there 

spires and . . . , , . r 

steeds. was impressive silence ; only the song of 
the lark, and an occasional voice or noise 
from below, disturbed the profound still- 
ness. People in one talked to those in 
another. Signals were given by notes of 
the flute. Telegraphic and telephonic 
communication was universal. People sat 



A Great Step 179 

in their parlors and listened to oratorios. 
Lines stretched from farmhouse to farm- 
house, and households communicated with 
ease. Country life was relieved of its lone- Country u/e 

. . , relieved. 

lmess. Neighbors enjoyed each others 
music and conversation. In sickness they 
were advised of every turn. They were 
guarded against danger. They extended 
invitations, and gave notice of visits. 
Offers of help were extended. Horses and 
implements and vehicles not in use were 
advertised. Little accommodations and 
civilities were universal, and closely bound 
large neighborhoods together. 

In Sub-Ccelum the people did not snore, the people 
They had trained themselves to avoid the snore. 
disagreeable act. This will not appear 
strange when it is remembered that in at 
least one great nation the children do not 
cry. Harsh, high-sounding respiration was 
never heard. Their breathing apparatus 
had been improved by long avoidance of 
it. Their nostrils had grown like the 
deer's by habitually inhaling through them. 
They had learned to keep their mouths 
shut, except while speaking or eating. 
Taking the air straight into the lungs was 
considered unhealthy and unwise. Their 



i8o Sub-Ccelum 

ears, too, had increased in sensitiveness by 
the good habit. The external organ was 
exclusively relied upon, as nobody opened 
Reiegatedto his mouth to hear more distinctly. That 
clownish way was relegated to farce. The 
women, naturally, had first learned to sleep 
without making a noise ; and, in time, the 
habit became intolerable in the coarser sex. 
The former had read of a grand seignior 
hundreds of years before, and had profited 
perhaps by the lesson. He kept qualified 
persons, whose duty it was to travel 
through the whole empire, to see and 
choose the fairest and rarest women, hav- 
ing leave to enter all places, nay, their very 
bed-chambers, to view them in what pos- 
tures they pleased, but chiefly to know 
whether they snored or stirred much in 
their sleep, or whether they slept quietly ; 
and, having made choice, they carried them 
to the prince, and their parents were much 
honored and esteemed. 

whistling. Nor was whistling heard in Sub-Ccelum. 
It was a lost art, not worthy of the name. 
It had departed with other barbarisms, but 
reluctantly. The tendency seemed to have 
been born in the people, and was nearly 
ineradicable. Its stubbornness had been 



A Production of Satan 181 

one of the discouraging things in their 
progress. At first, society laughed at the 
effort to discourage and prevent it. It 
was the universal safety valve. As a last Theuniver- 

r . . , . . . . sal safety 

resort of impatience and irritation it was valve. 
regarded as indispensable. Convincing 
argument was answered by it. It relieved 
the thinking faculty of vexation. By it 
audacity announced its defiance, and mean- 
spirited husbands insulted their patient 
wives. Nowhere the noise was not heard. 
It was the gauge of happiness, the stan- 
dard of ebullient emotion. Nothing 
showed thoughtlessness like the unpremed- 
itated whistle. The tones of it were the 
gamut of impulse, and might be marked, 
as degrees of temperature. Vanity varied 
them, as it adjusted the drinking-man's 
hat, hanging it, at last, on his organ of 
self-esteem. Oft-repeated legends, mixed 
with religion, had a good influence. It be- 
gan to be said that the whistler's mouth 
was not to be purified till after forty days ; 
that the offensive sound was produced by 
Satan's touching the human body ; and 
that the act was disrespectful to God. Disrespect- 
Even a whistling noise of any sort scared 
away the Holy Ghost. A woman tried to 
coax a dog by whistling, when a pious 



1 82 Sub-Ccelum 

servant interrupted her, Please, ma'am, 
don't whistle ; every time a woman whis- 
tles the heart of the Blessed Virgin bleeds. 
In some districts it was said that if one 
it made the whistled in the evening it made the angels 
' weep. It was a widespread belief — more 
than a superstition — that it was at all 
times unlucky for women to make the im- 
pious sound, as, while the nails for the 
Cross were being forged, a woman stood 
by and whistled. But the thing, perhaps, 
that had the greatest influence in ridding 
the nation of the nuisance was a famous 
instance of heredity everywhere known. 
The child and grandchild of a persistent 
whistler were born with mouths puckered, 
as if in the act ; and, as long as they lived, 
they could only take spoon food, and that 
by a tube adapted to the purpose. The 
cases were so peculiar that surgery did not 
risk attacking them, and they remained a 
perpetual warning against irreligion and 
bad manners. 



dentistry It was remarkable how generally the 
i N t°a T b£e prJ- people had good teeth. They were lus- 
trous, like ivory, and beautiful to view. 
It was a rare thing they were lost, except 
by accident or by wearing away. Dentis- 



A General Blessing i8j 

try was not a profitable profession. Many 
causes might be found for this general 
blessing. The intelligence the people car- 
ried into their living was perhaps the chief. 
Their food, as you have seen, was health- 
ful, and thoroughly cooked. They realized 
the importance of good digestion, as being importance 
the basis of all physical, intellectual, and geftZi. 
moral soundness. Foods of every kind had 
been scientifically and practically studied, 
and their effects accurately determined. 
Dinners of tragedians, it was said, were 
adapted to their parts ; they ate pork when 
they had to play tyrants, beef for murder- 
ers, boiled mutton for lovers. One of their 
great poets, seeing another sedulously oc- 
cupied with an underdone beefsteak, in- 
quired, Are you not afraid of committing 
murder after such a meal ? Much wis- 
dom, they said, was in olives, and that soup 
and fish explained half of the emotions of 
life. Fries had been utterly banished from Fries utterly 
the Commonwealth. Thorough mastica- 
tion was considered a necessity to health, 
and rapid eating an offense against de- 
cency. The pigs, even, had been trained 
to something like moderation in feeding. 
The people sat long at table, with abun- 
dance of good talk, and kindness, for sauce. 



184 Sub-Ccelutn 

They were ashamed of indigestion, know- 
ing very well that it meant excessive in- 
dulgence. Admitting it was advertising 
Emctation their intemperance. Eructation was dis- 
bie. gusting and unpardonable. For the teeth, 

especially, sound digestion was considered 
better than any dentifrice. Deleterious 
drugs had not been used for very many 
years. There had not been a case of sali- 
vation in all that time. Devices to sweeten 
the breath of maidens were not known, for 
the good reason that they were not needed. 
The air they exhaled in respiration was as 
sweet as zephyr in a garden of roses. The 
breath of kine was not to be compared 
with it. It was more like a cherub's in 
perfection of fragrance. Cleanliness was 
the thing of all things they relied upon. 
It extended not more to the care of their 
teeth than to everything pertaining to their 
living. It was a large part of their reli- 
gion. Purity was not more shown in their 
complexions and conduct than in their 
shining teeth and lustrous great eyes. 

fondness The reader, following the writer thus far, 
rels. QUIR " has inferred the general fondness for squir- 
rels. They were the universal pets of the 
people. Their liveliness commended them, 



vorable. 



A Suggestive Lesson 185 

and their remarkable cleanliness. To see 
them airing, sunning, and inspecting their 
beds, bit by bit, was a suggestive lesson in 
housekeeping. Insects or vermin found no 
quarter with them. The climate was favor- climate /& 
able to the interesting little animal. The ' 
native species were many and attractive. 
Others were acclimated and domesticated 
without much difficulty. Even the great 
Malabar squirrel, thirty-three inches long, 
and as large as a cat, was transplanted suc- 
cessfully. The tendency of the common 
species to trouble the nests of birds dimin- 
ished with the care they received. The 
predatory in their natures was largely elim- 
inated by humanizing influences. Like 
many other animals, they betrayed a liking 
for children. While they did not permit 
themselves to be handled to any great ex- 
tent — their self-respect prohibiting that — 
they were very free to run over the per- 
sons of those that they liked ; peering into 
pockets and perching themselves on shoul- 
ders in familiar ways. Occasionally, in Familiar 
favorable seasons, the squirrels of the for- 
est would multiply so abundantly that days 
were appointed to hunt them. Only at 
such times were they generally killed and 
eaten. In summer they seemed particu- 



ivays. 



1 86 Sub-Ccelum 

larly to delight in the fruit-trees at the 
sides of the roads. They ran from tree to 
a racing tree as if in a racing contest with the pass- 
ing wheels. The alertness of their move- 
ments and cheerfulness of their bearing 
were so inspiring that no wonder the little 
fellow was a favorite. With his prominent 
eyes and broad head he seemed to see and 
comprehend everything about him. The 
cleft upper lip gave an amused and affec- 
tionate expression to his animated face. 
The soft fur was always clean, and free of 
any disturbed look ; and his long, beautiful 
tail, expanded laterally, and carried ele- 
gantly over his back, was a picture of light- 
ness and grace nobody tired of seeing. 
There was nothing of the snarling or 
threatening in his appearance or conduct. 
He was the embodiment of cleanliness, 
cheerfulness, gracefulness, and good hu- 
mor, and was a perpetual inspiration to his 
biped sympathizers. One of the amuse- 
ments at the ponds was to set him on a 
bit of wood and see him floated about by 
the breezes. With his tail for a sail, he 
appeared the ideal navigator. 

respect Great respect was paid to the monkey 

m<Skey™ e by the humane inhabitants of Sub-Ccelum. 



The Simian Species i8y 

No small proportion of their population 
had descended from countries where he 
was an object of worship, and was raised 
to the rank of a god. Gorgeous temples Gorgeous 

, temples. 

were erected, 

With pious care a monkey to enshrine. 

History describes one of great magnifi- 
cence ; it was fronted by a portico for re- 
ceiving victims sacrificed to it, which was 
supported by no less than seven hundred 
columns. Hospitals were erected for their 
benefit, where thousands were kept in 
fancied ease and indulgence. One of the 
cities, upon its surrender to an invading 
army, contained 'a population of forty thou- 
sand, and as many monkeys. Specialists 
in Sub-Ccelum were interested in observ- 
ing the simian species, and noting their 
peculiarities. The belief was by no means 
limited that the human race was descended 
from the monkey. One species, at least, 
of ape, was entirely destitute of tail. Stu- Destitute of 
dents of the animal monkey had collected 
a great number of interesting facts, show- 
ing his resemblance in conduct and traits 
to the animal man. One female went out 
to service, made the beds, swept the house, 
and so far assisted in the cooking as to 
turn the spit. One on board a man-of-war 



1 88 Sub-Ccelutn 

assisted the cook and turned the capstan, 

and furled sails as well as any of the sail- 

Assistedin ors. Monkeys had assisted in tea picking 

tea picking. . . J / & 

in countries were tea was produced. One 
pious fellow, like many of the religious 
castes of his country, entertained an an- 
tipathy to an indiscriminate use of animal 
food, and would eat neither of the flesh 
of the cow or hog ; sometimes he tasted 
beef, but never eat of it. The young of 
one species were tended with greatest care, 
the females having been seen to carry their 
children to the banks of a stream, wash 
them, notwithstanding their cries, and wipe 
and dry them in the most careful manner. 
A certain specimen would open a chest or 
drawer by turning the key in the lock, 
would untie knots, undo the rings of a 
chain, and search pockets with a delicacy 
of touch which would not be felt until the 
thief had been discovered. On board ship 
an attempt being made to secure an orang- 
outang by a chain tied to a strong staple, 
Unfastened he instantly unfastened it, and ran off with 
the chain dragging behind ; but, finding 
himself embarrassed by its length, he 
coiled it once or twice, and threw it over 
his shoulder. In making his bed he used 
the greatest pains to remove everything 



Human-Like Expression 189 

out of his way that might render the sur- 
face on which he intended to lie uneven ; 
and having satisfied himself with this part Must first 
of his arrangement, spread out the sail, e sa ' 
and lying down upon it on his back, drew 
it over his body. Sometimes the captain 
preoccupied his bed, and teased him by 
refusing to give it up. On these occasions 
he would endeavor to pull the sail from 
under the captain, or to force him from it, 
and would not rest till he had resigned it ; 
if it was large enough for both, he would 
quietly lie down by the captain's side. He 
preferred coffee and tea, but would readily 
take wine, and exemplified his attachment 
to spirits by stealing the captain's brandy 
bottle. He would entice the boys of the 
ship into play by striking them with his 
hand as they passed, and bounding from 
them, but allowing them to overtake him 
and engage in a mock scuffle, in which he 
used his hands, feet, and mouth. He never 
condescended to romp with another mon- Romped 
key on board as he did with the boys of boys. 
the ship. Persons who aided in killing a 
red orang-outang, stated that the human- 
like expression of his countenance, and 
piteous manner of placing his hands over 
his wounds, distressed their feelings, and 



i go 



Sub-Coelum 



A curious 
instance. 



Instinct of 
Satan. 



made them question the nature of the act 
they were committing. A checked shirt 
was frequently thrown over a specimen, 
which he wore with great complacency. 
One day a gentleman wearing linen of a 
similar pattern appeared in the room, and 
was immediately singled out, nor was the 
animal satisfied until he was allowed to ex- 
amine the shirt, pulling it out from the 
breast, and holding it in comparison with 
that which covered himself, expressively 
looking up in the gentleman's face, as if 
doubtful of his right to a garb which agreed 
so nearly with his own. One said of 
monkeys as a dish that they were excel- 
lent eating, and that a soupe aux singes 
would be found as good as any other, as 
soon as you had conquered the aversion to 
the bouilli of their heads, which looked 
very like those of little children. Very 
remarkable, they said, and curious beyond 
measure, were the seeming consciousness 
of evil and apparent instinct of Satan that 
these very human animals, under certain 
circumstances, exhibited. Turtles and ser- 
pents were sometimes put into the cells of 
poor captives. They did not much care 
for the turtles, but the snakes were the 
very devil. 



Proverbial Fidelity rgj 

The dog, next to man, was esteemed for Qualities 

. . f AND Facul- 

his companionable qualities, and for his in- ties of the 
tegrity. His estimable nature was recog- 
nized and appreciated, and was developed 
in every way that was practicable. Kind- 
ness and encouragement did for him what 
it did for humanity. Treated like a dog 
was not a saying in that country. Bad 
dogs were not more numerous than bad 
men, and were as mercifully treated. Only 
incorrigibleness cost them their lives. 
Hopeless depravity in man or dog was 
guarded or punished as humanity willed 
or permitted. Cruelty was for savages. 
High qualities of the animal were as well 
comprehended as those of man. His fidel- 
ity had ever been proverbial. Other ani- 
mals acknowledged kindness, but were in- 
capable of voluntary sacrifices. Only man only man 
and dog spontaneously risked their lives in %Lri/fcm& ' 
the service of others. A portion of the 
population were of a race of affectionate 
and polite savages, who claimed their de- 
scent directly from a dog. They were 
described by the traveler as having low, 
musical voices, with a smile full of sweet- 
ness and light. So descended, the animal 
was their close friend and associate. He 
was taught to do many useful, graceful, and 



ig2 Sub-Ccelum 

generous things ; but especially he was 
used as a guard and protector. In one of 
the churches on Mount Athos was a fresco 
representing Saint Christopher with a 
dog's head. Many instances were related 
of his fidelity to the point of death. He 

a truefhi. was pronounced a true philosopher by the 
greatest of philosophers, because he distin- 
guished the face of a friend and of an 
enemy only by the criterion of knowing 
and not knowing. Whenever he saw a 
stranger he betrayed mistrust ; when an 
acquaintance, he welcomed him, although 
the one had never done him any harm, nor 
the other any good. He determined what 
was friendly and what was unfriendly by 

Knowledge the test of knowledge and ignorance. It 

ranee. was a saying that when you go to visit a 
friend at his house, you can perceive his 
friendliness the moment you enter the 
door, for first the servant who opens the 
door looks pleased, then the dog wags his 
tail and comes up to you, and the first per- 
son you meet hands you a chair, before a 
word has been said. Intelligence and cor- 
diality were much the same in man and 

Dog wheat, animal. Dog Wheat was not a perfect 
dog ; he had his aversions, as men have. 
He snatched cats, and they fell dead. But 



Incidents igj 

he was magnanimous towards his own ; he 
took the part of small dogs, and of dogs 
that were muzzled. Two friends, man and 
dog, went out for a walk together. The out/ora 
latter had contracted a deep cold, and wa 
suffered, on the road, two or three violent 
paroxysms of coughing. Returning to the 
village, master, or superior, had occasion to 
go into a shop where sweetmeats and can- 
dies of all kinds were kept for sale. While 
passing a word with the proprietor, some- 
thing was heard to fall upon the floor a few 
paces away. Turning round he discov- 
ered that Diogenes had reached up and Diogenes's 
knocked down a package of medicated 
candy — marrubium vulgare — and was ea- 
gerly eating it. He knew what was good 
for his cough. A faithful but sinful dog, 
misnamed Pluto, had been betrayed by his 
immaculate master into the hands of an 
executioner. When the unhappy creature 
comprehended his hopeless situation, and 
just before the fatal axe crushed his per- 
verted brain, he gave his false friend a Pint<?s false 

° friend. 

searching, miserable look, as much as to 
say, What has Pluto done to you, that you 
should betray him to death in this perfidi- 
ous manner? The astonished, appealing 
expression of discovery and rebuke haunted 



ig4 Sub-Ccelum 

the conscience-smitten owner in hours of 
disturbed sleep and wakefulness. It infixed 
itself in his memory, it distressed his soul. 
The incident was made public, and ever 
afterwards the killing of the canine species 
was determined by Council. 

Horses Horses, as said before, were bred for 

BRED FOR . 

moral moral qualities, rather than for speed and 

Qualities. ± x 

strength. Good temper and trustworthiness 
were prime considerations. They were 
treated with great kindness, and were 
trained to many valuable and ornamental 
uses. Breaking, or violent usage of the 
young animal, was not known. His spirit 
was not crushed, but cultivated, along with 
other good qualities. He was found to be 
good as he was well treated. He grew 
in beauty, also, under affectionate care. 
Horsemanship was a favorite amusement 
of the people. The beautiful shaded 
Rivalry roads invited and encouraged it. Rivalry 
was general in all fitting feats and exer- 
cises. Ladies and gentlemen were ambi- 
tious of distinction in them. Men did not 
allow themselves, Mazeppa-like, to be bound 
to wild horses, and let loose on the plains 
and roads ; nor women to represent Godiva, 
with flowing hair and close-fitting suits. 



general. 



Poetry in Motion ig$ 

Grace gave distinction rather than daring 
or boldness. Beauty on horseback was 
supereminent, and received homage. Po- 
etry in motion was a fair woman and her 
proud palfrey so perfectly matched that, 
centaur-like, they appeared and moved centaur- 
as one, unconsciously, semi-human and 
semi-equine, — tasting in fullness, in the 
master's language, purest life as it came 
from the bosom of the deities. Amphithea- 
tres were not uncommon, where displays 
were made in horsemanship. Horses were 
trained to perform graceful evolutions, cir- 
cumpositions, and convolutions, and to en- 
joy them. The circus was a favorite place 
of entertainment for the people. What 
will and the human body could not do, was 
a never-ending problem of interest. They 
were proud of their bodies and their minds, 
and liked to see them tested cooperatively, 
especially in equestrian exercises. The 
superior intelligence of their horses was 
illustrated in the reply of the distinguished Reply of a 
rider, when asked if there were not times 
when, from physical or other causes, he 
felt doubtful about being able to perform 
his difficult feats. Yes, he said, there were 
such times ; but his horse always knew of 
them ! Aware of his increased responsi- 



ig6 Sub-Coelum 

bility, the noble animal was more than ever 
thoughtful and circumspect — accommo- 
dating himself carefully to his rider, being 
At the right always exactly at the right place at the 
rtjhtfdie. right time. Famous horses, grown old, 
were not neglected as in other countries. 
The fastest mile horse of his day, in one 
of them, was consigned to a coach, and at 
length was found in a ditch, stoned to 
death. Another, as celebrated, was draw- 
ing a cab, after having won seventeen races. 
The religion of the people, as well as their 
humanity, forebade such brutality. Hap- 
pily, they were not insensible to pity or 
shame. 

love for The birds, of course, were favorites of 
this enlightened, tasteful, and kindly pop- 
ulation. They recognized in them many 
of the same qualities and traits they pos- 
sessed themselves, and delighted to study 
them. Of the more than eight thousand 
known species they enjoyed a generous 
proportion. They were not so far away 
from the equator but that they had many of 
the most beautiful tropical varieties. The 
superabundance of the flowers invited them, 
especially the humming-bird. Over one 
hundred of the more than four hundred 



Birds. 



Wisdom of Birds jgy 

species of that interesting family, from the 
smallest to the greatest, were found within 
their borders. Even the little flame-bearer tjuuuu 
— sometimes found inside the crater of an u££. 
extinguished volcano — was occasionally 
discovered. Its scaled gorget was of such 
a flaming crimson that, as a naturalist re- 
marked, it seemed to have caught the last 
spark from the volcano before it was extin- 
guished. It seemed to prefigure the re- 
finement and glory so often resulting from 
complete self-sacrifice and devotion to the 
worn-out and helpless. The wisdom of the 
little birds interested them. Mention was 
made of a nest of one beautiful species, 
which, being heavier on one side than on 
the other, was weighted with a small stone 
to preserve the equilibrium. They did not 
permit the wanton destruction of the hum- 
ming-bird, or other varieties of birds of 
bright plumage, for mere decorative pur- 
poses, as less enlightened peoples had in- 
dulged, to the almost entire extinction of 
many genera. Their experience had 
taught them that all birds were useful, and 
they referred to their perfect and abun- 
dant fruits and grains of every kind as evi- 
dence of it. The great bird of paradise, Great bird 
so rarely found in any other part of the ° 



ig8 Sub-Ccelum 

world, was not uncommon in Sub-Coelum. 
The splendid ornaments of this species 
were entirely confined to the male sex, the 
female being a very plain and ordinary 
bird ; though the young males of the first 
year so exactly resembled the females that 
they could only be distinguished by dissec- 
tion. Whence these philosophical people 
Anargu. deduced an argument for limiting coeduca- 
*dwed. ' tion ! The fact that the ordinary bird of 
paradise, from the very nature of his plum- 
age, could not fly except against the wind, 
illustrated to them the habit and necessity 
of approximate virtue in a world of violence 
and temptation. Supreme pride, and an 
unconquerable love of freedom, were seen 
in the quetzal, a native of the tropics, re- 
sembling a parrot. It was so constituted 
that if but one of its feathers was plucked 
it instantly died. If an attempt was made 
to cage the strange feathered visitant, it de- 
liberately attempted suicide by pulling out 
its own feathers, preferring death to captiv- 
ity. A species of variegated woodpecker, 
called the carpenter, interested them, for 
Fidelity and the fidelity and devotion it exhibited. If 

devotion. , .„ . , , 

one were killed, it was rare that its mate 
did not come and place itself beside the 
dead body, as if imploring a similar fate. 



Incarnate Selfishness igg 

The wren was their type and model of 
content and confidence. Instances were 
known where young ones that had been 
disturbed and threatened were found in 
the nests of robins, by whom they were 
fed and protected. They did not like the 
cuckoo, for the incarnate selfishness it dis- 
played. It would deposit its eggs in the The cuckoo. 
nests of other insectivorous birds, not more 
than one in a nest, leaving the care of the 
young entirely to the foster parents thus 
selected. A distinguished poet and close 
observer of nature was asked why it hap- 
pened that so many young singing birds 
were lost for a single young cuckoo. In the 
first place, he said, the first brood is gener- 
ally lost ; for even if it should happen that 
the eggs of the singing bird are hatched at 
the same time with that of the cuckoo, 
which is very probable, the parents are so 
much delighted with the larger bird, and 
show it such fondness, that they think of 
and feed that alone, whilst their own young 
are neglected, and vanish from the nest. 
Besides, the young cuckoo is always greedy Always 
and demands as much nourishment as the 
little insect-eating birds can procure. It 
is a very long time before it attains its full 
size and plumage, and before it is capable 



200 Sub-Ccelum 

of leaving the nest, and soaring to the top 
of a tree. And even a long time after it 
has flown it requires to be fed contin- 
ually, so that the whole summer passes 
away, while the affectionate foster-parents 
constantly attend upon their great child, 
Do not think and do not think of a second brood. It is 

of a second . . . . 

brood. on this account that a single young cuckoo 
causes the loss of so many other young 
birds. But they did enjoy the blackbird, 
for his loquacity and gregariousness. They 
had studied his language, and understood 
him when he talked. Their interpretations 
were very amusing. Nothing delighted 
them more than to see him bathing in 
moulting time, and he alike enjoyed the 
admiration he excited. There were places 
along the shallow streams where great 
flocks assembled for that purpose. Half 
an hour before sunset was a favorite time 
for the entertainment. Successively and 
simultaneously they rose out of the water, 
chattering as they ascended, and shaking 
out their glittering plumage, they filled the 

Myriads of air with myriads of rainbows — reminding 

rainbows. . - , . , 

observers of the ascent of the great groups 
of gay butterflies, described by travelers in 
the tropics, — orange, yellow, white, blue, 
green, — which, on being disturbed, rise 



Naturalists' Enthusiasm 201 

from the moist beach of the pools into the 
air by hundreds and hundreds, forming 
clouds of variegated colors. 

Insects and reptiles of all sorts were insects and 
objects of interest and study. Nothing 
pleased the children more than to fasten a 
little snake in the grass with a forked stick 
an inch or two behind its head, and on their 
knees with a good glass to look inspect- 
ingly into his interesting face. And the 
little beauty, they always said, looked into 
their faces with as much interest as they 
did into his. Some sensation was created 
in an electric railway carriage, where there 
were many passengers, by the escape of a 
boxful of mountain adders ; but the boy 
soon gathered up his pets without damage 
or difficulty. The wife of a distinguished 
naturalist found one morning in one of her 
slippers a cold, little slimy snake, one of 
six sent the day before to her scientific 
husband, and carefully set aside by him 
for safety under the bed. She screamed, 
There is a snake in my slipper ! The The savant's 
savant leaped from his couch, crying, A 7ion ma 
snake ! Good heavens ! Where are the 
other five ? Strange, the people naturally 
exclaimed with the philosopher, that nature 



202 Sub-Ccelum 

was never so powerful as in insect life. 
They were ever ready with striking exam- 
ples. The white ant could destroy fleets 
and cities, and the locusts erase a province. 
And then how beneficent they were ! 
Man would find it difficult to rival their 
exploits : the bee that gave honey ; the 
worm that gave silk; the cochineal that 
infusoria, supplied the brilliant dyes. But infusoria ! 
One saw in a little drop of water on a piece 
of glass a whole world of insects, of which 
the largest looked like grasshoppers, the 
smallest as pins' heads. Some of them 
were really like grasshoppers, others had 
the most monstrous shapes, all were tum- 
bling about each other, and the big ones 
swallowed their smaller neighbors. He 
saw infusoria in his own blood ; it swarmed 
with eels and cod and all sorts. It was no 
optical illusion ; he saw the forms of the 
insects and the movements of the different 
joints ; and besides, when he touched the 
globule with the point of a pin dipped in 
acid, they at once fled to the other side 
white and died a moment after. The white 
7n°k. ' mould in ink appeared a great forest, 
with plants, trees, and bushes ; the infi- 
nite opened before him, and he turned 
dizzy. 



In Universal Sympathy 203 

All this to give some idea of the character character 
and mental resources of the people. They tal r e - 

, , , ., 1 • • SOURCES. 

were simple in tastes and philosophic in 
tendency, and their humanity was broad 
enough to cover every living substance. 
This love of life, and perception of conscious 
existence, brought them in contact and 
sympathy with every pulsating organism, 
whether of man, animal, insect, bird, or 
reptile. The smallest living object was as 
wonderful to them as the greatest, and 
commanded their admiration and rever- 
ence. Their greatest happiness was in in- 
tellectual and moral activity. The possi- 
bilities of mental achievement and moral 
elevation determined their aims and duties. 
This tendency to universal investigation 
had not only established the feeling of uni- 
versal brotherhood, but had opened the 
way to its possible accomplishment. No- 
thing seemed small that looked to that 
end. The utmost that any one could do 
was only a little — the aggregate was the 
crown of mortality. Man was less to The crown 

of mortality. 

them than men, but manhood was above 
the mass, and not to be compounded. 
That was scrupulously in view and practice 
throughout all their education and civiliza- 
tion. It had the good effect to fix responsi- 



204 Sub-Ccelum 

bility. Society was not held responsible for 
conduct, however much it might influence 
tju htdivid- it. The individual was the immortal, and 
mortal. ' not the multitude. Multitudes might dis- 
solve, as solid bodies, into particles, but in- 
dividuals, as atoms, were not lost in the 
dissolution. The utmost estimate was put 
upon a just and enlightened man, and he 
was not disparaged nor degraded but by 
himself. There were limits to fusion with 
the multitude. Surrender was incompatible 
with sound growth. Discipline was much, 
but did not constitute character. Wheels 
and cogs were not the motive power. Char- 
acter grew by individual endeavor, and was 
exalted by worthy aims. Powers were de- 
veloped and determined by being constantly 
tested. A thing acquired by the man him- 
self was more than acquisition, it was dis- 
covery. The habit of individual effort and 
Not to be investigation made it impossible to knead 

kneaded into . , ' . . . 

masses. men into masses. Their intrinsic and in- 
destructible personality occasioned only 
effervescence and explosion whenever 
the attempt was made, — which was not 
often, as a memory of consequences was 
not quick to die out. The people were 
very generous in compromise, but not to 
the extinction of personal rights and obli- 



The Business of Society 205 

gations. Their tolerance was unqualified, 
but as the principle of give and take quali- 
fied it. They gave as they demanded. Im- 
patient of intrusion, they did not intrude. 
The business of society was to help the Help to the 
individual, not to absorb him. Where m ° 
every man was a man, that was impossible. 
There was not anything of which the Sub- 
Ccelumite was so sensitively jealous as of 
the undisturbed possession of the ground 
each one stood upon. His title was of 
God, and his ownership was not to be 
questioned. He met his obligations and 
acknowledged citizenship, but not to the 
last extremity. There was always a point 
where compliance would be extinction or 
slavery. Abreast and arm-in-arm he was 
willing to move generally, not always. As 
he respected himself he respected others. 
He would not tread upon nor be trodden. 
He granted the large liberty he exacted. 
By his personal, individual efforts he had 
become contradistinguished, as every other contradis- 
man had who deserved the name. He 
had not aimed to be like any other, but to 
be himself. His study of the ant had 
made him reverent of him, as of the 
species. The gifts of individual and asso- 
ciated character appeared in the insect 



206 



Sub-Ccelum 



commonwealth as in Sub-Coelum. They 
matched as they were known, and were not 
underestimated as they were perceived in 
either. Intelligence, in whatever crea- 
inteiugence ture, inculcated humanity, as sentient ex- 

inculcated . ... A ... r 

humanity, istence inspired reverence. All was of 
God, for His own wise purposes, and ines- 
timable but by Him. From ant to man 
was a sweep the Sub-Ccelumite did not pre- 
tend to compass. He bowed low, and 
trusted. 



Personal 
Indepen- 
dence. 



Conditions 

always 

changing. 



Personal independence — born of intel- 
ligence, plain living, and individual devel- 
opment — was a marked characteristic of 
the population. Habits of reflection, self- 
denial, and just self-estimation, made 
them poor material for the demagogue and 
crafty churchman. They could not be 
trained, at will, to perpetual thoughtless 
subordination and submission into sects and 
parties. Not that they resisted coopera- 
tion, but that conditions were always 
changing, and that the point of observa- 
tion of any one was never long exactly the 
same. Deference to others did not signify 
involuntary surrender of themselves. Pa- 
triotism made them generous in political 
action, but not heedless, nor personally irre- 



Charitable to Others 207 

sponsible. Being essentially religious, in 
all that the word implies, they were char- 
itable to others alike so, and were unfit- unfitted/or 
ted for sectarian antagonism. Feeling and Zntagwism. 
judgment, operating together, prevented 
any rash committal that might be embar- 
rassing or unjust to themselves or others. 
They did not love power for the sake of it. 
They respected minorities as much as ma- 
jorities, because of the possibility of their 
being in the right, and of the probability of 
their preponderance upon a slight turn of 
affairs. They were conservative of neces- conserve 
sity, because of their reflection and liberal- sity. 
ity of judgment. Only conscience brought 
them to a stand of defiance or aggressive- 
ness. What was wrong was not to be 
compromised with ; but the common weal 
was always of interest in every heart, and 
divisions were generally upon modes and 
processes. It had been many, many years 
since they had been drawn into a war, a war /or 
and that was intestine, and for personal liberty. 
liberty. A crisis had arisen when a dis- 
tinction was made between the rights of 
individuals and classes, not in harmony 
with fundamental policy or sound morals. 
Every man was guaranteed freedom : each 
to enjoy the same rights and be entitled to 



208 Sub-Ccelum 

the same protection as any other. The 
conflict had not been possible but for in- 
flamed passions and ambitious leaders. 
Love of power and love of place, aggra- 
vated by material interests, arrayed section 
against section, and blood of brothers 
flowed, almost without limit. Mere busi- 
ness questions could not have so bitterly 
divided them, even at that time ; but later, 
from any cause, such antagonism was im- 
Bioody war- practicable. Bloody warfare was an extrem- 
{tZghtof. ity not to be thought of. Leadership that 
would commit them to it was impossible. 
To the point of desperation partisan zeal 
was not to be excited. Leaders, indeed, 
were only for a season, and then only be- 
cause they were indispensable. Organi- 
zation for a purpose did not pledge continu- 
ance for any other. Each movement was 
independent, and not connected with any 
scheme of personal ambition or emolument. 
Men wiser Men were wiser than sheep, who follow 
their leader whithersoever he may please 
to lead them. With what devotedness the 
woolly hosts adhere to their wether ; and 
rush after him, to speak with the rugged 
philosopher, through good report and 
through bad report, were it into safe 
shelter and green thymy nooks or into 



A Significant Illustration 209 

asphaltic lakes and the jaws of devouring 
lions. It is worth repeating, that, if you 
hold a stick before the leader, so that he 
by necessity leaps in passing you, and then 
withdraw your stick, the flock will neverthe- 
less all leap as he did, and the thousandth 
sheep shall be found impetuously vaulting impetuously 
over air, as the first did over an otherwise V over a£. 
impassable barrier. The people delighted 
in this illustration of leadership and blind 
following. In their amphitheatres they re- 
peated it, again and again, for amusement 
and instruction. Sensitive to satire, and 
proud of their personality, the lesson im- 
pressed itself upon them in a manner to 
make them distrustful of unnecessary disci- 
pline. When they accepted a leader, it was 
unavoidable, and not without qualification. 
Following last year was not a reason why 
they should do the same this. In conse- 
quence, dissolution was as inevitable as 
organization, and a result of it. The ambi- 
tious demagogue and subtle priest did not 
find them plastic in their dextrous hands. Not Mastic 
As said, they were thoughtful, individual, hands. 
self-respecting, responsible human beings — 
not poor, silly, timid sheep, to be led and 
herded and butchered by kings and priests 
and heroes without questioning. 



21 o Sub-Ccelum 

individual- This individuality made them interest- 

ity Made ■* 

them In- i n pr Even the average man was not com- 

TEKESTING. ° ° 

monplace from conformity, nor the most 
inferior servile by submission. While of 
the mass, they were separable, if not self- 
separated. They avoided, as said, that gen- 
eral language and general manner which 
tended to hide all that was peculiar — 
in other words, whatever was uppermost 
in their own minds, after their own indi- 
Everyman vidual manner. Every man, in their phi- 
tion. losophy, as expressed by the philosopher, 

was a new creation, could do something 
best, had some intellectual modes and 
forms, or a character the general result of 
all, such as no other in the universe had, 
which needs made him engaging, and a 
curious study to every inquisitive mind. 
They did not look at life as a game of 
checkers, as reformers are apt to do, where 
every man has the same fixed powers and 
the same even line of moves. They re- 
garded life, to use the illustration of an- 
Li/eiikea other, not as a game of checkers, but as a 
g cke7s° game of chess, where every piece has in- 
dividual characteristics, where every pawn 
has a chance to be a queen, where the 
powers and possibility of each piece change 
with every move or change of square, in- 



The Typical Citizen 211 

fluenced by past, present, and future, so 
that every piece may develop into any 
other by recognition of the law of inequal- The taw of 
ity that presides over individuality, and tneq iy ' 
each move opens new, divine, and won- 
drous possibilities. That view of life 
taught each man, if possible, to put a just 
estimate upon himself, to live appropriately, 
and to realize, if practicable, his own ideal. 
He was made to believe, as was truly said, 
that his real influence was measured by 
his treatment of himself; that he must 
first find the man in himself, if he would 
inspire manliness ; that like begets like the Like begets 
world over. The typical citizen, conse- 
quently, stood eminently a man amongst 
his fellows. Genuineness identified him. 
He did not want any recognition he did 
not deserve. If influence or fame came to 
him it was his desert. It was not asked 
which side he was on. Though possessing 
the humility of true learning, his mental 
enlargement was discerned and appre- 
ciated. Better than fame, it had been 
truly said, was the silent recognition of 
superior knowledge. It was something to something 
be a superior man in Sub-Ccelum. His rwr man. 
rank was that of a citizen of the universe, 
whose mind, as described, was made to 



212 Sub-Ccelutn 

be spectator of all, inquisitor of all, and 
whose philosophy compared with others as 
astronomy with other sciences ; taking 
post at the centre, and, as from a specular 
mount, sending sovereign glances to the 
circumference of things. Serene, above 
the clouds of passion and contending inter- 
ests, he preserved, to use the happy lan- 
Equipoiseo/ guage of another, that equipoise of man- 
ner which told of an equanimity of life. 
His stature had been determined by possi- 
bility. He had made the most of himself 
within his power. He had been open and 
receptive, and had invited understanding 
from all things and all men. Nothing was 
too small for his consideration, nor too 
great for his admiration. There was no 
challenge of superiority, no apparent con- 
sciousness of supremacy. Any one might 
approach him, but no one could appropriate 
him. Conspiracies did not disturb him, as 
from their nature they must fall apart. 
He did not perceive slights, nor care to 
Envy comprehend their spirit. Envy was oblique 
m iration. admiration. Because great, he did not 
contend with smaller men in small things. 
The platform was not to his taste, however 
worthy of it. Exhibition of himself was a 
cheapening of his character. The essen- 



Not for Display 21 3 

tial was occult, and did not care to be made 
self-conscious. It was for inspiration, and 
not for display. The causes of things are 
silent, however tremendous may be their 
results. He did not exact, being sure of a 
full measure of whatever was his due. De- 
serving was fate. Impatience was weak- Deserving 
ness, and evidence of self-distrust. The 
courage of his heart was for worthy enter- 
prises, and could not be wasted upon 
trivialities. He did not hurt his powers 
by an ignoble use of them. Wings for 
possible flight into the empyrean were not 
to be impaired by rude uses. His best 
faculties were for best work, and were not 
dissipated upon nothings. He did not care 
to usurp or invade ground already too 
well occupied. Room, of all things, was 
what he most wanted, for growth and 
development. 

While absolute personal freedom was the law of 

,. Diversity. 

secured to all men, no attempt was ever 
made to produce social equality ; that had 
been left exclusively to self-regulation. The 
beautiful and interesting law of diversity in 
all things had been established from the 
foundation. Out in the forest, under the 
spreading tree, looking up at the luxuriant 



214 Sub-Ccelum 

foliage, you may not think of the difference 
between the leaves ; but pull down a limb, 
and spend an hour comparing them ; you 
find, much as they resemble, that no two 

Plumage of are precisely alike. Examine the plumage 
of the owl that you cruelly brought down 
with your rifle ; every feather of his beau- 
tiful dress differs from every other ; and, 
what is more remarkable, every fibre of 
every feather is another feather, still more 
delicate, differing from every other, all of 
which together yield to the pressure of 
your hand like floss silk. No wonder he 
fell upon the mischievous mole or mouse as 
noiselessly as the shadow of a cloud. Go 
down to the seashore; the tide is out; 
there is an apparent waste of white sand, 
a dull extent of uniformity ; but stretch 
yourself on the beach, which the innumer- 
able differing waves have beaten to incom- 
parable smoothness, and examine leisurely, 
with a good glass, a few hundred of the in- 

Grainsof finite grains which you thought to be the 
same, and you discover that they differ, 
that each is differently shaped, each holds 
the light differently, and, what is more 
wonderful than all, each appears to be a 
shell, or part of a shell, which was once the 
abode of a creature, and a different crea- 



Could They Exchange Souls? 215 

ture from every other inhabiting, or that 
ever inhabited, any other shell of the 
ocean. Look into the crowded street ; the 
men are all men ; they all walk upright ; 
they might wear each other's clothes with- 
out serious inconvenience ; but could they 
exchange souls ? What professor, ex- 
claimed the philosopher, has ever yet been 
able to classify the wondrous variety of The won. 

.... drous vari- 

human character ? How very limited as et y of human 
yet the nomenclature ! We know there 
are in our moral dictionary the religious, 
the irreligious, the virtuous, the vicious, 
the prudent, the profligate, the liberal, the 
avaricious, and so on to a few names, but 
the comprehended varieties under these 
terms — their mixtures, which, like colors, 
have no names — their strange complexi- 
ties and intertwining of virtues and vices, 
graces and deformities, diversified and 
mingled, and making individualities — yet 
of all the myriads of mankind that ever The myriads 
were, not one the same, and scarcely alike : unlike. 
how little way has science gone to their 
discovery, and to mark their delineation ! 
A few sounds, designated by a few letters, 
speak all thought, all literature, that ever 
was or will be. The variety is infinite, 
and ever creating a new infinite ; and there 



2i 6 Sub-Ccelum 

is some such mystery in the endless variety 
Endless va- of human character. Such endless variety 

riety con- . . , 

s&cuous. was conspicuously seen in the population 
of Sub-Ccelum. It was impossible, with 
their intellectual activity and prevailing 
disposition to make the most of them- 
selves, that it could be otherwise. Free- 
dom of choice in vocation, avocation, and 
association only made the natural dissimi- 
larity more apparent. Freedom, freedom, 
without infringement of the privileges, 
rights, or liberty of others, was the pride 
of every Sub-Ccelumite. Fetters, gyves, 
shackles, were his aversion : he would not 
wear them. Badges, even, he hated, as 
compromising his freedom. His sense of 
liberty was shown in an incident in one 
of the foreign revolutions, when so many 
persons of different views assumed the tri- 
color for protection. One well-known per- 
son refused to wear it. A workingman 
meeting him in the street addressed him : 
Reason/or Citizen ! why do you not wear the badge of 
Ike fadg"! g freedom ? To which the distinguished per- 
son replied that it was to show to the world 
that he was free ! In exact proportion to 
their happy and complete freedom was 
their unqualified tolerance and liberality. 
Intolerance was so utterly absent from the 



One Compendious Unity 21 y 

spirit and habit of their lives that they did 
not even comprehend it. Why another 
should be deprived of what they enjoyed 
themselves was one of the profound mys- 
teries. A distinguished professor in a for- 
eign university showed a visitor a very 
pleasing print, entitled, Toleration. A Toleration. 
Roman Catholic priest, a Lutheran divine, 
a Calvinist minister, a Quaker, a Jew, and 
a philosopher, were represented sitting 
round the same table, over which a winged 
figure hovered in the attitude of protection. 
For this harmless print the artist was im- 
prisoned, and, having attempted to escape, 
was sentenced to drag the boats on the 
banks of the river, with robbers and mur- 
derers ; and there soon died from exhaus- 
tion and exposure. The Christianity of 
the Sub-Ccelumite had survived all the 
barbarisms of other forms, and was broad 
enough to include all differences in one 
compendious unity — his philosophy and 
religion cherishing and protecting it, as 
the figure in the picture. 



Behind all their civilization, and apparent the 
in every detail of it, was the healthful habit habit of 

r t i 1 r 1 Occupa- 

01 occupation. It made men self-depen- tion. 
dent, self-sacrificing, intelligent, and happy. 



2i 8 Sub-Ccelum 

Idleness was disreputable. Homes for 
the Indolent were not established to ele- 
vate it, but to warn against it, and to bring 
additional shame upon slothfulness and in- 
application. The servitude of involuntary 

The vice of labor was a quick corrective of the vice 
of indolence. Poverty was rare, and not a 
disgrace, except when no effort was made 
to escape from it. Wants were few and 
inexpensive. The necessaries of life were 
cheap and abundant. The vices were not in 
the market, being largely eliminated. Great 
sums formerly paid for them were directed 
to better uses. Appetites were sound, 
and did not require costly stimulation. 
Like the passions, they were largely sub- 
servient to reason, but in exceptional cases. 
Enjoyments were found satisfying in pro- 
portion as they were pure. Evil propensi- 
ties and depraved affections were believed 
to be perversions wholly out of nature. 
Observation of the habits of animals was 

a lesson in a perpetual lesson in moderation. The 

moderation. , . . . , 

beasts that perish were decent compared 
with gross men. The habit of uprightness 
kept them in line from the centre of the 
earth to the top of heaven. Hours of labor 
being few, occupation in the main was vol- 
untary. Well-applied skill and industry 



Every Man a Laborer 219 

easily supplied all that was necessary. All 
labor was alike honorable. Poverty was 
not dishonorable in itself, but only where 
it arose from idleness, intemperance, ex- 
travagance, and folly, a maxim of theirs de- 
scended from the ancients. There were no Every one 
drones, as every one did something for a thing/or a 
living. Whether with brain or hands, every 
man was a laborer. Sympathy and frater- 
nity were inevitable ; contempt, one of 
another, impossible. Whether in the gar- 
den, the workshop, the senate, or the field, 
each one was accepted a man, and was ex- 
pected to walk worthily. The grub in the 
fresh furrow, and the blackbird that de- 
voured it, were resources for his intellect, 
as the food his labor brought him was sus- 
tenance for his body. As he trod the 
clods, the earth moved to meet him. 
Whatever his occupation, when he stepped 
out under the blue dome, and looked up at 
the galaxies, he beheld, with the enraptured 
poet, the Street-lamps of the City of God. 
His mind his kingdom was, and not the His mind 

his kingdom 

shop or farm, ever and ever. He was less was. 
for the morrow than for the everlasting. 
Leisure, to those who knew rightly how to 
employ it, they held with the philosopher 
to be the most beautiful of possessions ; 



220 Sub-Ccelutn 

yet without this knowledge it became bur- 
densome and a fate. One must, they said, 
espouse some pursuit, taking it kindly at 
heart and with enthusiasm. Fruit he must 
bear or perish of lassitude and ennui. Lei- 
sure to be perfectly enjoyed must be earned 
Leisure that — then it is divine. It opens the windows 

is divine. r . _ . «... 

ot promise, and receives what it invites, to 
fullness. Rightly employed, as in Sub- 
Coelum, it fills society — to borrow just 
words — with gentlemen, of inherent self- 
respect and inherent courtesy ; it fills it, 
also, with ladies, of purest mould and di- 
vinest exemplariness. It made the people 
self-sacrificing, with opportunity. It was 
a maxim with them, that man is never 
wrong while he lives for others ; that the 
philosopher who contemplates from the 
rock is a less noble image than the sailor 
who struggles with the storm. Recogni- 
tion or compensation of humane service 
was not in the least a consideration. The 
Lesson o/ the lesson of the Wise Man, in language and 
spirit, was ever before them : There was 
a little city, and few men within it ; and 
there came a great king against it, and be- 
sieged it, and built great bulwarks against 
it : Now there was found in it a poor wise 
man, and he by his wisdom delivered the 



Importance of Habit 221 

city ; yet no man remembered that same 
poor man. 

The frequent use of the words probably probably 
and perhaps, and their equivalents, was haps. er " 
characteristic of the people. It showed 
that consideration and deliberation were 
habitual in their speech. Care was taken 
to impress upon the young the importance 
of these words. They were printed upon 
cards and hung upon the walls of school- 
rooms. Sentences illustrating their value 
and correct employment were written on 
the blackboards. In these ways the diffi- 
culty or impossibility of absolute know- 
ledge was stamped upon the growing mind, 
and the necessity of circumspection in 
speech impressively enforced. They were 
taught the importance of habit — in that 
as in everything. Frequent reiteration 
fixed in the memory the valuable precept, valuable 
Choose the course which is best, and habit 
will make it easy. Truth holding the first 
place in their system of education, ap- 
proaches to it were opened and guarded in 
every practicable manner. Frequent repe- 
tition was required to make the pupils ac- 
curate, and to impress them with a sense of 
accountability. Dogmatic statement, from 



222 Sub-Ccelum 

its very nature, was suspected. It closed 
every avenue but the one traveled over by 
him that made it. It also had an element 
of violence in it that was inimical to just 

Disputation, thinking. Disputation was its life. There 
is an account of an orator who was wonder- 
fully choleric by nature and indulgence ; 
to one who supped in his company, a man 
of gentle and sweet conversation, and who, 
that he might not move him, approved and 
consented to all that he said ; he, impa- 
tient that his ill-humor should thus spend 
itself without aliment : For the love of 
the gods ! contradict me in something, said 
he, that we may be two ! When thinkers 
met together to think, or dilate, they did 
not, so to speak, answer one another ; they 
permitted to thought the utmost freedom, 
consistent with just intellectual hospital- 
ity, and did not antagonize it ; they might 
differ from it, but not by direct reference. 
Thought stimulated but did not provoke. 
Disputation was out of the question in in- 
dependent thinking. While each one was 
free to express himself, a like liberty was 

Dogmatic not denied to any other. Dogmatic dis- 
cussion was not consistent with their con- 
ception of intellectual growth. Where 
each one knew a little, and no one pre- 



discussion. 



Avoided Detraction 223 

sumed to know all, the way to a fair under- 
standing was not difficult. Feuds were 
discouraged in every possible way. Hard 
names were not given to men and things, 
certain of their reaction, as of their injus- 
tice. The habit was to say the most fa- The habit to 

iii« r 1 • sayfavora- 

vorable things of others, and to avoid tie things. 
detraction. If a harmful thing was idly 
or viciously said of a neighbor, some one 
present was sure to make a note of it. If 
not apologized for and withdrawn, account- 
ability for it was fixed. Dangerous gossip 
in this way was largely prevented. Truth 
and falsehood were discriminated. Visit- 
ing faults and sins upon those innocent of 
them was not a fashion of general adop- 
tion. Their religion was against it as 
well as their habit and philosophy. They 
looked to their own conduct, rather than 
to their neighbors' : for it they were ac- Accountable 

i i i r 1 • -i- for their 

countable, and not for theirs. Ever pres- <mmc<mduct. 
ent with them, and not to be forgotten, 
was their profound sense of personal re- 
sponsibility — the foundation and super- 
structure of their ethics and religion. 
All of which promoted good neighbor- 
ship and inspired security. The man, they 
said, who delights in giving you full credit 
for every excellence you possess, rather 



224 Sub-Caium 

than in belittling you by an exaggeration 
a treasure, of your foibles, is a treasure ; and the pro- 
tection you feel in the neighborhood of 
such a man, law could not give you. He 
shuts your gate, he protects your child, he 
guards your reputation ; he does the fair 
and generous thing. If men were weighed 
and not counted, such an one would over- 
balance many of poorer material. A wise 
man, having a farm to sell, bid the crier 
proclaim also that it had a good neighbor. 

the social It was another of their maxims, that mis- 

CONSCIENCE. i,i« i i 

understandings and neglect occasion more 
mischief in the world than even malice and 
wickedness, and they looked to them es- 
pecially. Only the very few indeed, by 
what has been called the alchemy of pri- 
vate malice, concocted a subtle poison from 
the ordinary contacts of life. For the fun 
of the thing, not for the mischief of it, the 
world there, as everywhere, prattled on. 
Sometimes it was cruel ; but it was the 
cruelty of the thoughtless boy. It did not 
much concern itself, for the time being, 
about justice or injustice. To the sources 
it did not much care to go if it could. It 
preferred to see with its eyes rather than 
with its head, — by its senses rather than 



Idle Personalities 225 

by its reason. It saw outwardly, and talked 

for recreation — irresponsibly, too often, 

and without reflection. ' When it criticised 

or ridiculed, it did not always consider that 

the best continually blunder and stumble, The best 

and only learned to keep their feet by fall- stumble. 

ing. Morally as well as physically. If an 

invisible knocking machine tapped each 

one on the head the instant and every 

time he meant evil or thought wrong, what 

a getting up there would be ! What a 

scene the street would present ! To the 

church or the market the same. The 

world laughs; — with us, and then at us. 

Careless words sometimes left their sting, 

and rankled long after they were uttered. 

Repeated, the wound was less curable. 

Thy friend has a friend, and thy friend's 

friend has a friend ; be discreet ; was a 

saying they did not always carry in their 

minds. The inward wounds that are given 

by the inconsiderate insults of wit, they did inconsider- 

. . n ate insults of 

not always wisely remember are as danger- wit. 
ous as those given by oppression to infe- 
riors ; as long in healing, and perhaps 
never forgiven. Particular pains were 
taken to impress these truths upon the less 
reflective. They were taught the danger 
of idle personalities, and that the mischiefs 



226 Sub-Ccelum 

they created were sure to be permanent if 
not soon corrected. A habit of often re- 
viewing their social relations was urged, 

Expiana. and pretty generally adopted. Explanation 
was promptly made whenever it was 
thought just and merited. If the slightest 
cloud was discovered on an acquaintance's 
face upon meeting him, time was not lost 
in removing it. If avoidance was percepti- 
ble in the conduct of any one, the reason 
of it was sought, and good relations were 
restored. The social conscience was 
quickened and enlightened by these good 
offices. While it was not possible, with 
the utmost circumspection, to altogether 
prevent misunderstandings, it was found 
easy to correct them by going a little more 
than half way towards it. The conscious- 
ness of possible offense was enough to 
prompt explanation and apology. While 
words and circumstances were remembered, 
and not aggravated or perverted by brood- 
ing, candor and truthfulness were sure to 

Maike make all plain and satisfactory. Malice 

thwarted. ... , 

was thwarted by anticipation and preven- 
tion, and memory was not even disturbed 
by the remembrance of misconception or 
difference. A better understanding was 
established, and the friendship temporarily 



Kindness to Children 227 

lost was made permanent. Neglects were 
atoned for by greater consideration and 
kindness. Affection was fed by tenderness, 
and starved hearts restored by bounteous 
sympathy. Ill-treatment of children was 
one of the gravest of social offenses. It 
was considered a mean and cowardly in- a grave so. 
iquity. One of the distinguishing marks 
of a thorough gentleman was his consider- 
ate kindness to children. Their favorite 
novelist had said — a favorite on account 
of his searching, sympathetic, profound 
humanity — that in the little world in 
which children have their existence, there 
is nothing so finely perceived and so finely 
felt as injustice. It may be only small in- 
justice that the child can be exposed to ; 
but the child is small, and its world is 
small, and its rocking-horse stands as many 
hands high, according to scale, as a big- 
boned coursing hunter. 



MENTS. 



Amusements were simple — as far as amuse- 
possible educational and hygienic — and ' 
adapted to the multitude. The tone of 
their theatres was generally elevated — in 
no sense degrading. Comedy and tragedy 
of the highest order were preferred. Stage 
dress was limited to decency. Representa- 



228 Sub-Ccelum 

tions that would occasion a blush the pub- 
lic taste prohibited. Applause was judi- 
cious, and never clamorous. Doors were 
closed before the performance commenced. 

The theatre. Disturbance from going in and out was not 
permitted. People went to see the play, 
and not to display themselves. Showy 
dress was considered vulgar — refined peo- 
ple avoided it. At the opera, greater free- 
dom was indulged ; the audience being a 
larger part of the entertainment. Eyes 
were feasted at the same time that minds 
and tastes were gratified. As before said, 
the people most delighted in oratorio, and 
their dress and behavior were much the 
same as at the theatre. Too elaborate 
adornment made them self-conscious, and 
limited their enjoyment of the higher, bet- 

The arcus. ter music. The circus was more generally 
popular than any other entertainment. Its 
character brought together great audiences 
— appealing especially to the senses. The 
masses of humanity, comfortably seated 
and happy, were a great spectacle. Twenty 
thousand was not an unusual audience. 
Physical education was inspired by the 
amphitheatre, and added interest was given 
to the gymnasium. Pedestrianism was a 
favorite amusement and exercise of the 



Pedestrianism 22g 

people. It taught grace, and gave vigor 
and health to the constitution. It stirred 
the mind, whetted the appetite, and drove 
away melancholy. So common was the 
healthful diversion that no able-bodied per- 
son thought of spending a day without a 
long walk. Their beautiful roads were Their beau- 

. . . t r 11 tiful roads. 

most inviting to pedestrians. In favorable 
weather, walkers were never out of view. 
Women as well as men enjoyed the pas- 
time. The grace and beauty of their 
movements were a perpetual charm. 
Springs of sweet water were at convenient 
distances on the highways, affording de- 
lightful resting-places. Manly men and 
womanly women exchanged courtesies. 
Bright eyes and rosy cheeks and musical 
voices animated these natural and acci- 
dental meetings. Cupid was close about, 
and Hymen not far off, and nobody could Hymen not 
guess what a morning would bring forth. 
Dancing, of course, was a chosen amuse- 
ment ; but it was scrupulously limited and 
guarded. Public balls, where anybody 
might be admitted for the money, were not 
tolerated — even by the most inferior of the 
population. The universal self-respect 
tabooed all such degradation. Pyrotechnic 
displays were common, especially on anni- 



230 Sub-Coelum 

versaries and other popular occasions. 
Great crowds assembled to witness them. 
Perfect order prevailed in these street as- 
semblages. Not a word was spoken that 
was unfit to be heard, nor a glance or 
movement ventured that could offend. 

Kiteflying. Kite flying was universal ; it seemed to be 
the one outdoor amusement that every- 
body loved. Old and young participated 
in it. Their kites were mechanical and 
scientific wonders. They were ingeniously 
constructed, and rose as naturally and 
gracefully as birds. Some of the designs 
were very beautiful and suggestive. For 
hours and hours together all ages amused 
themselves with all manner of aerial contri- 
vances. Spelling-contests had long been 
kept up, and the people never wearied of 
attending them. A high premium was put 
upon perfect spelling. It was felt to be a 
shame not to be able to spell any word in 
common use amongst intelligent people. 
Rewards were paid to perfect spellers, and 
distinction was conferred upon them. 

Reading. Reading, also, was a public exercise, and 
was of great service in general education. 
As so great a part of their pleasure and in- 
struction came through reading, the great- 
est effort was made to improve themselves 



The True Standard 231 

in it. In the book of Nehemiah they 
found the true standard of reading aloud 
— how Ezra, the learned and pious priest, 
and the Levites, read to the people the 
law of Moses : they read in the book, in 
the law of God, distinctly, and gave the 
sense, and caused the people to understand 
the reading. The rule of Ezra and the Theruieoj 
priests was the rule adopted throughout 
the Commonwealth, which, by its very 
nature, discouraged anything like elocu- 
tion. It produced a multitude of good oral 
readers, who penetrated the words of the 
printed page, perceived their sense, and 
participated their feeling, and were able, 
unconsciously, to interpret, reveal, and en- 
kindle them in the reading. Chemical ex- 
periments were constantly made for the 
edification and amusement of the people. 
They were taught the chemical elements, Thechemi- 

,,,,., rn . r-i cal elements 

and all their known offices in nature. Such 
practical instruction helped them in out- 
door observation, which, at last, was their 
best resource and entertainment. Some 
pains have already been taken to show the 
reader how the population were interested 
in everything that existed — from creature 
to man, from atom to sun, from sun to 
universe. Their habits of observation 



232 Siib-Ccelum 

made their minds acute, and their close 
sympathy with nature exalted their souls. 
wuhGod To repeat, they were with God in His 
•works. works. Each season produced its won- 
ders. To see a noble forest, they said, 
wreathed in icy gems, was one of the 
transcendent glories of creation. You 
looked through long arcades of iridescent 
light, and the vision had an awful majesty, 
compared with which the most brilliant 
cathedral windows paled their ineffectual 
fires. It was the crystal palace of Jehovah. 

drawing, In the province of Kadoe is the great 
and sculp- temple of Boro-bodo, described by travel- 

TURE. . . . 

ers in the tropics. It is built upon a 
small hill, and consists of a central dome 
and seven ranges of terraced walls cover- 
ing the slope of the hill and forming open 
galleries each below the other, and com- 
municating by steps and gateways. The 
central dome is fifty feet in diameter; 
around it is a triple circle of seventy-two 
towers, and the whole building is six hun- 
dred and twenty feet square, and about one 
hundred feet high. In the terrace walls 
are niches containing cross-legged figures, 
larger than life, to the number of about 
four hundred, and both sides of all the 



Sculptured Hill-Temple 233 

terrace walls are covered with bas-re- 
liefs crowded with figures, and carved in 
hard stone ; and which must, altogether, 
occupy an extent of nearly three miles ! 
The amount of human labor and skill ex- 
pended on the Great Pyramid sinks into 
insignificance when compared with that re- 
quired to complete this sculptured hill- 
temple in the interior of a tropical island. 
A philosopher told a story of one of the phuoso- 
lords of session in his country, a strange, 
rough, gruff judge, who was in the habit of 
taking sketches of people in court with a 
pen and ink. One day he asked the usher, 
Who 's that man yonder ? That 's the plain- 
tiff, my lord, was the answer. Oh, he 's 
the plaintiff, is he ? he's a queer-look- 
ing fellow ; the Court will decide against 
him and see how he '11 look ! History goes 
not back to the time when art in many of 
its diversified forms was not practiced. 
In Sub-Ccelum the taste for it was univer- The artistic 

, , . . . ., taste univer- 

sal, and great progress was made in its cul- s<a. 
tivation. The artist's eye and habit had 
been quickened and strengthened by the 
generous system of instruction. The prin- 
ciples and practice of drawing were carried 
into all their schools and intelligently 
taught. Perhaps one pupil in fifty discov- 



234 Sub-Ccelum 

ered ability, and was encouraged ; if one 
in ten thousand showed genius, there was 
hope ; but the multitude was benefited. 
Taste was cultivated if nothing more. 
Adepts in drawing were not uncommon. 
The little books in side-pockets contained 
many admirable sketches. They revealed 
searching- the searching observation of faces that the 

observation . , . _ ,...._, , ., 

o//aces. judge in the story exhibited. Thumb-nails 
were shaped to use in sketching. A very 
small card in the artist's hand would re- 
ceive and retain necessary outlines. In 
public places there were "conveniences for 
posting anonymous and other original 
drawings. Very acute many of them 
were, and taught as the most logical dis- 
courses could not. A little picture would 
illumine a public question. Caricature 
was of course indulged, but not danger- 
Private ously nor licentiously. Private character, 
sacred. unless connected with the public in a way 
to occasion mischief, was sacred to it. 
Women also, whatever the folly to be ex- 
posed, were never subjects of ridicule or 
open attack. There were limits that the 
public had severely prescribed, and they 
were rarely transcended. The artist who 
misused his pencil or brush became odious. 
He was not tolerated. If incorrigible he 



Human Nature Exalted 235 

was locked up. The public taste ran to 
the virtues, and delighted to see them rep- 
resented. Infinitely were they exhibited, 
in pencil and in color. Human nature 
was constantly being exalted by these rep- 
resentations. Sculpture, especially, &&- HffWsaa *. 
ployed itself in embodying the highest ff e y ™ sem ~ 
qualities and achievements of manhood 
and womanhood. Martyrs to reason, to 
humanity, and to personal freedom, were 
the favorite subjects of superior genius. 
Heads and figures of Socrates, of Jesus 
Christ, and of John Brown, were to be seen 
in public places. The brow of the first 
appeared the home of intellect ; the face of 
the second shone with a supernatural light ; 
the front of the third was rugged, like the 
brow of Hercules. These representations, 
idealizations, realizations, were instructive instructive 
and elevating according to the mood or ex- ung. e 
tremity of the beholder. An intellect in 
shadow, ill-recognized and unrequited for 
the time being, gained courage in contem- 
plating a head of the brave philosopher ; a 
poor fellow, feeling himself oppressed, re- 
covered hope as he paused before an ideal 
representation of his hero ; a woman, in 
anguish, uncovered before a figure of the 
immaculate Saviour, and cast an upward 



236 Sub-Ccelum 

look of adoration that no eye witnessed 
Biessidbe without sympathy. Blessed be art, they 
said in their hearts, that lifts us up when 
we are cast down ; that puts a hope into 
discouraged souls ; that exalts wretched- 
ness to a place in the bosom of Deity. 
There was not any person or place that 
did not feel the pervading influence. 
Homes were adorned by it, and flooded 
with a healthy moral atmosphere. Not 
one but had ideals of virtue that were per- 
petually teaching. Shame covered the 
face of wrong in their pure presence. 
sculptural Sculptural manipulation of clay was one 
7hn! plda ~ of the common amusements. The expert 
would take in his hand a portion of 
kneaded earth, and exhibit the passions and 
emotions one after another, as they were 
asked for. Grief would drop a tear over 
the thumb-nail, and Santorini's laughing- 
muscle show itself in the face. Horrible 
were some of the faces made, and lovely 
were others as genius could make them. 
capable Draughtsmen, in goodly number, were 
rmtg a like capable in their department. On 
the blackboard, or other suitable drawing 
surface, they gave to observers whatever 
expression or outline they requested. An- 
imals were drawn with human-like faces, 



Quality Preferred 237 

and men with the faces of animals. Wings 
were transferred from birds to reptiles. 
There was no limit put upon these diver- 
sions except by time. Audiences broke 
up with abated respiration. 

Books they had in abundance — too not amm- 
great abundance, they constantly felt, great li- 
With all their weeding, the number was 
not lessened. They were not ambitious 
of great libraries, quality being preferred 
to quantity. Their aim was to preserve 
only the best. They realized that minds, 
like some seed-plants, delight in sporting ; 
there is great variety in thinking, but the 
few great ideas remain the same. They are The few 
constantly reappearing in all ages and in all 
literatures, modified by new circumstances 
and new uses ; though in new dresses, they 
are still the old originals Like the virtues, 
they have great and endless services to 
perform in this world. Now they appear 
in philosophy, now in fiction ; the moralist 
uses them, and the buffoon ; dissociate 
them, analyze them, strip them of their 
innumerable dresses, and they are recog- 
nized and identified — the same from the The same 
foundation and forever. If a discrimina- foundation. 
ting general reader for forty years had noted 



238 Sub-Coelum 

their continual reappearance in the tons of 
books he had perused upon all subjects, he 
would be astonished at their varied and 
Thinkers multiplied uses. Thinkers he would per- 
"us7/£n mer ' haps find more numerous than thoughts ; 
yet of the former how few. The original 
thought of one age diffuses itself through 
the next, and expires in commonplace — 
to be born again when occasion necessi- 
tates and God wills. At each birth it is 
a new creation — to the brain it springs 
from and to the creatures it is to enlighten 
and serve. If the writer or speaker could 
know how often it has done even hack-ser- 
vice in the ages before him, he would repen- 
tantly blot it out, or choke in its utterance. 
In the unpleasant discovery, that indispen- 
sable and inspiring quality, self-conceit, 
would suffer a wound beyond healing. In 
literature, as a rule, the oldest books were 
preferred ; in science the newest. The 
simplicity classic, they said, was always modern. Sim- 
iainment' plicity they considered, with the critic, the 
last attainment of progressive literature : as 
men are very long afraid of being natural, 
from the dread of being taken for ordinary. 
They accepted the definition of literature to 
be the written thoughts and feelings of in- 
telligent men and women arranged in a way 



Perspicuity Essential 239 

to give pleasure to the reader. Pleasure 
could not be had where there was affectation, 
and where meaning had 'to be groped for. 
Perspicuity was an essentiality. The mis- 
erable habit of some biographers of search- 
ing out the weaknesses of authors with their 
audacious dark-lanterns, was not in favor in 
Sub-Ccelum. Men had a right, they said, 
to be themselves, if they were authors : 
and they were not to be called hypocrites 
if their thoughts and conduct did not al- Thoughts 

T , r 1 1 • 1 1 • • and conduct. 

ways agree. It was from this sublime in- 
evitable simulation of literature, they said 
and repeated, that the world gets its lay 
working ideal perpetually renewed. As 
yet, a human creature can only sometimes 
be quite good in the still act of writing. 
By a happy error those who do not write 
mix up the man and the author, where the 
difference is not forced on them, and think- 
ing there are beings so much better than 
the common, they try fitfully to live after 
the style of books. If the illusion should 
be destroyed, and it ever came to be univer- 
sally known that literature is intentional Literature 

11 • r • intentional 

only, that the writers of these high judg- only. 
ments, exact reflections, beautiful flights of 
sentiment, are in act simply as other men, 
how is the great bulk to be stung into try- 



240 Sub-Ccelum 

Metaphysics, ing after progress ? Metaphysics, having 
long ceased to be considered a science, 
books on the general subject were scarce ; 
they had mouldered away, or been con- 
signed to the paper-makers. The same 

Political judgment of political economy had reduced 
nomy. ^ e books upon that subject to a few. The 
political economist, they said, looked upon 
men too much as machines, and his system, 
they thought, contained too many conflict- 
ing calculations and theories to be useful. 
Masterpieces of authors were scrupulously 
treasured ; indeed it was their rule, with 
voluminous writers, to preserve only their 
greatest achievements. Those books that 
the ages had passed upon were accepted as 
indubitably worthy. They believed with 

No luck in one of the greatest that there was no luck 

utZt r n. re ' in literary reputation. They who make up 
the final verdict upon every book are not 
the partial and noisy readers of the hour 
when it appears ; but a court as of angels, 
a public not to be bribed, not to be en- 
treated, and not to be overawed, decides 
upon every man's title to fame. Only 
those books come down which deserve to 
last. 

the press. The tone of the press was such as might 



The Antidote 241 

be expected from the character and intelli- 
gence of the people. It was moderate, but 
wholly and habitually free. As well said, 
a press is mischievous only where it is par- 
tially and irregularly so. Just as a draught 
gives you a cold, while even a storm in the 
open air is innocuous. If the press were 
free for a fortnight only in every year 
there would be an annual revolution. Its its duty. 
duty, as defined by a distinguished mem- 
ber, was to make war upon Privilege — to 
see that a ruling class was not formed in 
the State, to reduce the functions of offi- 
cials, to eliminate from the popular appre- 
hension the illusions of political supersti- 
tions. It adopted as a maxim, The less 
government the better ; the fewer laws 
and the less confided power. The antidote 
to the abuse of formal government, they 
said, was the influence of private character, 
the growth of the individual. Journalism, 
adopting the language of a critic, was packed on a 
pitched on a low key, and set about on the ow ey ' 
ordinary tone of a familiar letter or conver- 
sation ; as that from which there was little 
hazard of falling, even in moments of neg- 
ligence, and from which any rise that 
could be effected must always be easy and 
conspicuous. A man fully possessed of 



242 Sub-Coehim 

his subject, and confident of his cause, 
may almost always write with vigor and 
effect, if he can get over the temptation of 
writing finely, and really confine himself 
to the strong and clear exposition of the 
Accuracy matter he has to bring forward. Accuracy 

and definite- . e 

ness. and denniteness were 01 the first impor- 

tance in their journalism. Violence was 
suspected — even strong language — ex- 
cept in rarest cases. Italics were not 
used, as every word was expected to itali- 
cize itself. Intelligence was discriminated 
and severely sifted. News was not any- 
thing that might be invented, embellished, 
or perverted. It was the rule to publish 
only what was literally true. News gath- 
erers were instructed to be direct and con- 
cise. A column about a trifle was not ac- 
ceptable. Ability in condensation was 
preferred before facility or felicity. While 
personal items were sought and desired, 
great care was taken to print only such as 
were respectful and creditable. Journal- 

Mottoand ism generally had adopted as a motto and 

ride of con- . f 

duct. rule of conduct a sentence from a famous 

writer : Private vices, however detestable, 
have not dignity sufficient to attract the 
censure of the press, unless they are united 
with the power of doing some signal mis- 



Chronicle of Perdition 243 

chief to the community. Objectionable 
matter, from its nature, found a place in 
The Chronicle of Perdition, a journal that, 
in spite of public opinion, found a suffi- 
ciency of readers to support it. Alas! 
there were people, even in Sub-Ccelum, 
with prurient tastes and appetites, who de- Prurient 

. ..... • . . tastes and 

lighted in recitals of evil and gross crimi- appetites. 
nality. A journal of general circulation 
was called Information for the People. It 
was crowded with condensed facts upon all 
sorts of subjects, and formed a literature of 
its own. It was intelligently indexed, and 
had grown into many large volumes. It 
was a mine of information, that was con- 
stantly consulted by all classes. But the 
most popular of all their journals bore the 
significant title of Confidential Letters to 
the Public. Each number of it contained 
a hundred or more free communications, 
from as many persons and places, upon a 
great variety of subjects. It was some- 
times called The National Barometer. It The Nation- 

, . , - .... al Barome- 

mdicated the matters upon which the pop- ur. 
ulation were generally thinking, and es- 
pecially those about which they were most 
uneasy. Questions were discussed, but 
not in an elaborate manner. Space was 
too valuable to permit the inundating 



244 Sub-Ccelutn 

method to any. Grievances of all sorts 
were acutely and forcibly presented. 
Friction- Functionaries, especially, consulted the 
JX/JT suggestive journal for cues, and assembly- 
men referred to it as authority. No wor- 
thy subject, of social or political interest, 
escaped investigation in Confidental Let- 
ters. Communications were anonymous, 
but the names of authors were registered, 
and produced, if in extremity they were 
called for. It was not possible for any in- 
telligent citizen to avoid being interested 
in its contents. It determined for him the 
average judgment upon current topics ; it 
it gauged put his finger upon the public pulse ; it 
^on^td gauged apprehension and anxiety with ap- 
anxiey. p rox i ma t e accuracy. Nothing unhealth- 
fully stimulating, as a rule, was found in 
their newspapers. Sensation was not in 
favor; truth and decency were elevated 
above everything. They were not ambi- 
tious of the picturesque or startling in 
their annals ; on the contrary, they pre- 
ferred the commonplace and tiresome, as 
more significant of contentment and pros- 
perity. 



results of In the evolutionary processes of this pe- 
culiar civilization some unexpected changes 



Changed Places 245 

had resulted. The dogs did not bark 
noisily, as had been their wont ; the moon, 
even, did not disturb them. They contem- 
plated Luna, but without demonstration. 
The cats, likewise, were considerate of the 
peace of neighborhoods. Men, many of %™£jg me 
them, changed places with women, and 
became essentially domestic. Household 
duties, in a great degree, had passed into 
their hands. They discovered a fondness 
for them, as to the other sex they became 
distasteful. In well-to-do households every 
department but the nursery was surren- 
dered to them. They were strong, and 
could lift, and climb, and stoop, without 
difficulty or detriment. The kitchen, es- The kitchen 

. ,, , . , . /- i • their do- 

pecially, was their domain. Cooking, as main. 
before observed, was a very high art in 
Sub-Ccelum. Learning had been devoted 
to its development. Chemistry, particu- 
larly, had been ransacked, and its mysteries 
applied extensively. Kitchens were lab- 
oratories and museums. Contrivances for 
everything had been invented and appro- 
priated. Cook books had grown to the cookbooks 

cyclopaedias. 

proportions of cyclopaedias. As the 
word servant was obsolete, and never used 
throughout the Commonwealth, the pro- 
fession of cook was as respectable as any 



246 Sub-Ccelurn 

other ; indeed, a master in the kitchen 
ranked with scholars and scientists. To 
his genius they attributed much that was 
best in their life and achievements. In 
their profound study of body and mind — 
of their dependence and interdependence 
— how astonishingly morals depended 
Necessity of upon stomach — the necessity of good 

good cook- J " 

ing< cooking was appreciated, and the art ele- 

vated. Soups were in such variety that 
every want of appetite and emotion was 
provided for. A dinner for the gymnast 
and a dinner for the poet were as different 
as any two things of a kind could be. The 
resources and gamut of the emotions had 
been studied as profoundly as the possibil- 
ities and power of the muscles. Training 
for anything remarkable was largely 
through the wisdom and manipulations of 
Eating de. the kitchen. Eating was determined by 
occtipation. occupation. The orator prepared himself 
for highest flights by days of discriminate 
living. The clergyman, to impress his 
hearers, was conscientious about his break- 
fasts. It was not thought possible for a 
judge to be considerately just without judi- 
cious and temperate diet. The actor, es- 
pecially, was indebted to the cook for his 
reputation. The green-room and the 



Enjoyment Inevitable 247 

kitchen were inseparable to him. Dinners 
in well-ordered households were inspira- 
tions, the cook having eaten appropriately 
to achieve them. The dishes were so 
wisely various, so divinely cooked, and so 
perfectly served, that enjoyment from them 
was inevitable. Conversation was in keep- converse 
ing, and men and women regarded them- ing-. m 
selves as worthy of the perpetuation they 
hoped for. The cook commanded better 
wages than the senator. Anybody, after a 
fashion, might perform the functions of the 
latter ; the skill of the former was excep- 
tional and essential. The perfect cook 
was a desideratum in that high civiliza- 
tion. At banquets, the chef appeared at 
the end of the entertainment and received 
his just homage. Pledges were drank, and 
wine poured out in honor. Guests rose, 
and bowed low, as their genius and bene- 
factor passed out. Grades there were, of 
course, in the profession — in ability and 
dignity ; but there was pride in it through- Pride of 

r • t profession. 

out, and every member of it studied to 
attain the utmost excellence. Households 
were happier with male cooks ; the wo- 
men preferred them, and treated them as 
gentlemen. Servant or scullion was not 
thought of in the pleasant relation. 



248 



Sub-Ccelum 



The High 
Estimate 
put UPON 

Woman. 



Emancifia- 
tedfrom 
menial du~ 
ties. 



Made the 
best physi- 



The high estimate put upon woman was 
evidence of incomparable advancement. 
Feminineness, whether in virginity or ma- 
ternity, was exalted. No man forgot to 
pay reverence to the sex of his mother, 
his wife, or his sweetheart. Adoration of 
the Virgin Mother was its apotheosis. 
Oh ! exclaimed the humanist, if the loving, 
closed heart of a good woman should open 
before a man, how much controlled tender- 
ness, how many veiled sacrifices and dumb 
virtues would he see reposing therein. 
As far as possible woman was emancipated 
from menial duties. The offices of mo- 
therhood, especially, were not infringed by 
avoidable domestic drudgery. She was 
left free to devote herself to the care and 
development of her children, and to the 
enjoyment of such society as would supply 
the want occasioned by continually de- 
scending and imparting. All suitable oc- 
cupations were thrown open to women, 
and some of them they monopolized. It 
was found that they made the best physi- 
cians — especially for children and women. 
Their delicacy and courage made them 
superior surgeons. Their fingers manipu- 
lated in a manner impossible to men's. 
In cases of confinement they were pre- 



Remarkable Intuitions 249 

ferred, without exception. Women in that 
crisis reasoned, as reported, and were lis- 
tened to deferentially. They said frankly, 
if pressed in so delicate a matter, that all a delicate 
their strength, in the act of violent exer- ma 
tion, consisted in the liberty of the exer- 
tion, and that this liberty was as nothing 
if a man was in the room. From this 
cause, at every moment, hesitation re- 
sulted, and contradictory movements. 
They exerted and they restrained them- 
selves. You will say, says the wise re- 
porter, that they are in the wrong, that 
they should be at ease, should, in such a 
crisis, forget their superstitions of shame 
and fear, the little annoyances which so 
humiliate them. But, however this may 
be, such they are ; as such they must be 
treated. And he who, to save them, will 
put them in such peril, is certainly unwise. 
Male physicians, therefore, in such cases, 
were seldom or never called. In deter- 
mining the causes of disease, the medical 
knowledge of women was supplemented by 
their remarkable intuitions — a very high a high or- 
order of wisdom. As such they were rec- dom. WIS ' 
ognized and employed in many important 
offices. As moral police they kept guard 
over society. The invisible was duly 



250 Sub-Ccelum 

rated — nothing escaped their unerring 
ken. Mysterious and inexplicable, they 
were nevertheless authority. Judges con- 
sulted them in difficult cases. Testimony, 
contradictory and involved, was analyzed 
and made perspicuous. Motives were re- 
vealed marvelously. The oblique was 
whenmfdu direct to them. These intuitions were 
particularly infallible when the conduct of 
females was in question ; for women knew 
women in Sub-Coelum. Their knowledge 
and instincts, so applied, appeared omnis- 
cient. Indications unseen and unknown 
to men were apparent and unmistakable to 
women. Signs of concealment were as 
conspicuous as those of unquestioned 
frankness. Good women were known and 
read by all ; happily there were few in 
Sub-Coelum that were not good. Their 
superior nature was acknowledged and ap- 
preciated by all men. It enlightened so- 
ciety and elevated it. Better standards of 
conduct were set up. Encouragement was 
pure and given to well-directed effort. Pure and 
womanhood, enlightened womanhood was the ripe fruit 
and governing influence of civilization. It 
pitched thought and enthusiasm. It 
adorned whatever it touched. It stimu- 
lated charity. It led in religion. The 



Its Typical Aureola 251 

beauty of all things was heightened by it. 
It was the medium in which all men lived, 
moved, hoped, and worshiped. The flow- 
ers grew better in its atmosphere; the 
birds sang sweeter ; fruits were more de- 
liriously flavored ; supernatural rainbows, 
such as they had, were its typical aureola. 

Her brow 
A wreath reflecting of eternal beams. 

Government was largely supported by how gov- 

, , , , ERNMENT 

taxes upon incomes and upon heads, and was sup- 
by a generous system of licenses and an- 
nuities. Rich people, being able, were 
also willing to bear the greater part of the 
public burdens. It was a privilege they 
esteemed and were proud of. Estates did 
not grow enormously. Great possessions 
were not thought good for the possessors 
or for the public. They were apt to create 
distinctions not in agreement with the gen- 
eral system of society and government. 
The utmost practicable equality was the 
universal aim. Money was especially ap- what money 
predated for the leisure it gave to do what ™taiiy a%re- 
was preferable to making it. As repeat- ctae 
edly said before, the ambition of every one 
was to make the most of himself — to 
gather resources and treasures that would 



252 Sub-Ccelum 

not fade — that would make him a man in 
whatever condition or state he might be 
placed. Believing that this life was only- 
preparatory to a better, every effort was 
made to develop themselves worthily, and 
everything not necessary to that was an 
incumbrance. It was the rarest thing that 
Money no- any one thought money anything in it- 
uing tn it- ge j£ ,^ e sma u tax pj acec i U pon every head 

produced a large aggregate, and it was 
cheerfully paid. It stimulated patriotism. 
Every one had a money interest in his 
Government, and was a supporter of it. 
When he walked out on one of the beauti- 
ful roads, it was his as much as anybody's. 
When he plucked fruit from the endless 
orchards, it was from his own trees, that 
his own money had assisted to plant. The 
vast and perfect system of schools, by 
which his children were educated, was not 
a charity in his eyes, as he and every other 
inhabitant had helped to establish and sup- 
port it. The citizen who would withhold 

At heart his pittance was at heart guilty of incivism. 

dvism. Privileges, in the form of licenses, were 
liberally and cheerfully paid for. Special 
rights included special immunities that 
were inviolable. They were worth more 
than they cost, and were estimated accord- 



System of Annuities 253 

ingly. They included also honor and re- 
sponsibility. If an individual exceeded his 
purchased privilege, he was guilty of a 
breach of trust, and was severely punished. 
Betrayal was one of the high moral and 
penal offenses. The system of annuities, 
as before said, was considerately provident 
and generous to the people, and was a great 
convenience. For a sum of money given 
to the Government, the giver received 
quarterly a liberal per centum during his a liberal 
lifetime — the amount, of course, being luring™ 
determined by the longevity tables. To 
scholars and to old people it was a great 
accommodation. Their savings were 
turned over to the Commonwealth, and they 
were supported from them without risk or 
anxiety. Scholarship was free to pursue 
its investigations, and old age reposed in 
the security of independence. In such 
cases death was not made interesting by 
possible inheritance. Indeed, it was not 
thought good that property should descend. 
Every man, according to their theory, was Every 
an accretion, an incarnation ; was just iion - 
what he was naturally, and what he had 
gathered and assimilated. His personality 
represented his earnings as well as his at- 
tainments. No genuine man wanted what 



254 Sub-Ccelutn 

he did not earn. It was common for the 
prosperous to place annuities upon the old 
and helpless of their kindred, to relieve 
them of the humiliation and discomfort of 
Liberality of dependence. Many rich people, before 

richfeople. r . J ... 

their deaths, gave away, in this manner, 
about all that they had, to the eminently 
needy and worthy. They perpetuated 
themselves by their good acts, leaving 
nothing to be wasted in dissipation and in- 
dolence. This well-devised system of an- 
nuities was not only a pecuniary resource 
to the Government ; it strengthened it also 
in the affections and interests of the peo- 
ple. Helpful essentially, its judicious and 
fostering protection was affectionately re- 
membered. 

the ma- The machinery of politics, in the sense 
polI?ics° f of office-getting and office-holding, was not 
strained. Terms of office were short, and 
elections, of course, frequent. Salaries 
were small and therefore not greatly 
desired. Judges alone were elected for 
long periods, and were paid good salaries. 
Persons who sought office persistently 
were mistrusted; desire for place was 
therefore cautiously and modestly exhib- 
ited. Those most worthy were sought 



The Man Himself 255 

by the public. Voluntary preference was 
gratifying, but place-holding was not con- 
sidered especially honorable. The man 
who was fit for a place was not more of a 

man by occupying it. Merit was in the Merit not in- 

, . , r , . , . creased by 

man himseli, and was not increased by recognition. 
recognition. The best men did not hold 
place at all, except in extremity. Crises 
sometimes occurred when their services 
were demanded. In such cases it was 
manifest surrender, and not for personal ad- 
vancement or emolument. Titles, though 
permitted, were not encouraged, and were 
not often bestowed. They were extra- 
neous, and did not belong to the man ; the 
intrinsic was his personality. Society was 
filled with men who had been governors 
and the like, whose rank had not been 
increased by their temporary eminence. 
Occasionally one presumed upon it, and 
arrogated importance in consequence ; but 
the average wisdom and common sense 
soon relieved him of his conceit and put 
him back in his place. The airs of a pre- Airs of a 

_ •■11 pretended 

tended favorite were soon perceived and /«»««&• 
corrected. A man might be a favorite, in- 
deed, until he assumed to be, when he was 
not. Public favoritism was fickle and 
qualified. Gifts were scattered, but lim- 



256 Sub-C&lum 

ited to the public weal. The privileges 
secured to each were not incompatible 
with the rights of any. The citizen was 
elevated by his own worthiness, rather 
opportunity than by factitious assistance. Opportunity 
was given to all, advantages to none. 
Every man had an equal chance to make 
himself what he would. It was not pos- 
sible to organize men permanently into 
parties ; self-respect and personality for- 
bade. Demagogues were sometimes lis- 
tened to in times of extremity, but were 
soon overwhelmed. The ready attention 
given to ambitious factionists beguiles 
them to ruin. If the public ear can be 
easily had, why not its strong right hand, 
with a dagger in it? Thousands may be 
got to subscribe a compact of defiance to 
authority, and the leaders in the scheme of 
treason may be confident of its success. 
The roll of names may attain an immeas- 
urable length, and the time for violence 
arrive. The signal agreed upon, and per- 
fectly understood, is given, when the whole 
The devilish devilish plot appears a failure to its in- 
ure. ventors. Those enrolled to participate m 

the parricidal crime expose and identify 
their leaders, join in exultation at their 
disgrace and ruin, and a purer patriotism 



Objects of Amusement 2$y . 

is established. Desperate disorganizes 
misinterpret public impatience. Their 
own hearts corrupted, and bent upon dis- 
ruption and revolution, they assume as 
much perfidy and baseness in those who 
listen to and seem to sympathize with 
them. Popular discontent cannot easily be Not easily 
organized into revolt. An attempt to so TltTre^oit. 
organize it, while a particle of patriotism, 
gratitude, or hope remains, will only 
quicken a remembrance of benefits, and 
warm the common heart to a more fervid 
attachment. Once put upon its guard, no 
temptation could seduce it. It had been a 
great while since the people of Sub-Coelum 
had been seriously disturbed by dema- 
gogues. The few specimens they pos- 
sessed were generally harmless, and were 
objects of public amusement. Society was 
too intelligent, upright, and individual to 
be long influenced by them. Election day 
was not more exciting than any other. 
The utmost independence was secured to The utmost 
the voter, and any infringement of it was len^Te- 
rigidly punished. The public conscience 
at ease, there was little, if any, likelihood 
of disturbance. Evils were slight, and 
easily corrected. Clamor was impossible 
where the people were contented and 



• 258 Sab-Ccelum 

happy. Showy and expensive inaugura- 
tions were not in fashion. They were con- 
vuigarand sidered vulgar and barbaric. If any dem- 
onstration was made it was at the end of a 
term of office, where the service had been 
worthily distinguished. Even the chief 
magistrate quietly subscribed his oath of 
office, and entered upon its duties without 
flourish, ostentation, or self-gratulation, 
modestly impressed with its responsibili- 
ties. 

essential Though the people of Sub-Ccelum, as a 

Excel- , . , . 

lence of rule, were good, — good as goodness is 
ple. qualified and limited by human nature, — 

they made no pretensions to sanctity; 
though religious, they were not professors 
of religion ; though Christians, they did not 
wear badges of piety. There was nothing 
in the way of dress, language, or manner to 
advertise super-excellence. Goodness was 
a personal matter with each one, and was 
only to be known by character and con- 
Genuineness duct. Piety was in the life. Genuineness 
was the standard. Consciousness of im- 
perfection taught them humility. Acutely 
observing and reflective, they saw God in 
everything, and were reverent ; perceiving 
the universal dependence, they felt the re- 



the stan- 



Responsibility 259 

sponsibility of existence. They truly be- 
lieved and realized that here we begin to 
be what we are to be ever. They con- 
scientiously and persistently sought the sought the 
good and avoided the evil. They carefully g avoiZthe 
guarded themselves against whatever must 
perish with the body, and ardently culti- 
vated all which must survive it. Happi- 
ness was not sought in its transient forms. 
Life was appreciated by its resultant uses. 
The duty of the hour was the duty of all 
time. The good inhered. The present The present 

... . , , the period of 

was realized as the period of growth ax\a growth and 
achievement ; and, having something to do ment. 
worth doing, they needed all the time they 
had to do it well. The duties of the day 
faithfully discharged, they did not much 
concern themselves about the morrow. 
The morrow was so far provided for that 
it was anticipated and made easy if it came. 
Refinement and intelligence and excel- 
lence resulted from fidelity to duty, and a 
happiness was established as serene as it 
was unconscious. Living and acting, and 
getting the pleasure and good of life out of 
each day of it, they enjoyed a foretaste of Enjoyed a 

r • • , . ,_. .foretaste of 

fruition and perpetuity. They reverenced fruition and 

Perpetuity. 

the life and teachings of Christ for their 
purity and humanity more than for any 



260 Sub-Coelum 

dogmas of theology that might appear to 
be taught in them. They did not under- 
stand Christianity to be for the super-ter- 
restrial, to whom sin is known only by wis- 
dom. They understood it to be for men, 
needing it, and proved its adaptability by 
accepting it — its practicableness by prac- 
Their Chris- ticing it. Their Christianity was encour- 

tianity eft- ......... . - - 

couraging. aging, m that it did not require absolute 
imitation of, but some slight approxima- 
tion to, the Founder. A religion that was 
discouraging to hope was a poor religion 
for men ; and a religion that required of 
them the impossible was such. For some 
it might be easy to be good — very good — 
as they understood goodness ; for others it 
was nearly impossible to be good at all ac- 
cording to ideal and exclusive standards. 
To the former it might seem easy to be- 
lieve that Christ should be imitated ; to 
the latter it seemed to be only possible 
that He could be approximated. He was 

The Great the Great Exemplar, the Divine, to be ap- 
proached, and only approached, as nearly 
as possible, by the creature. Now and 
then, it might be, a man was born into the 
world in whom were all the virtues so 
admirably mixed that it was possible for 
him to approach very near to the Divine 



Exemplar 



The Mighty Difference 261 

Founder — so near as almost to touch the 
hem of His garment ; the many, however, 
were unable to approach so near by a very 
great way; while the multitudes were so 
far off that, instead of seeing the light of 
His countenance, they only saw the reflec- Oniymwthe 
tion of it as it appeared faintly, very rej 
faintly, in the happy few, very few, alas ! 
who were able to approach near enough to 
feel a little the direct rays of the Divine 
Effulgence. After a poor creature had 
done all that it was possible for him to do, 
it was discouraging to be told that he had 
not done enough ; that after he had done 
all that it was possible for him to do, he 
should be lost. He knew himself what he 
could do and what he could not do ; and 
found himself unable to accept a form of 
faith which offered rewards for the imprac- 
ticable and impossible only. If the gate 
of Paradise was to remain shut against 
him, for what he could not help, it must 
remain shut against all mankind, as he was 
not able to see the mighty difference in 
men that their hopeless separation implied ; 
— a separation inconceivable to the vast a se para- 
majority of sincere believers in a future SSSf" 
state, — believers in Christ, and heirs to 
heaven under His testament. 



262 Siib-Coelum 

their Re- Their religion — the religion of the peo- 

LIGION. - . P 

pie — was not a science nor a profession ; 
it was a life ; dogmatic theology was not a 
part of it. It did not consist in words, but 
in spirit. Its essence was in the Sermon 
on the Mount, and in the New Command- 
ment. Love was its ruling principle. 
God and humanity was their unwritten 
creed. It taught reverence of the Creator, 
Humility and charity for the creature. Humility 

and amity . r 

its/ruits. and amity were its fruits. They loved 
God, and trusted Him ; there was not, to 
them, a single element of terror in His at- 
tributes ; Indulgent Parent was the lan- 
guage they most used in addressing Him. 
When they prayed, they used not vain 
repetitions ; their Father knowing what 
things they had need of before they asked 
Him. Rarely other prayer than the 
Lord's was made use of — the sum and 
summary of all adoration and supplication. 
They did not disfigure their faces by as- 
suming sad countenances ; they did not 
toss up their eyes sanctimoniously. Con- 
fidence in the promises made them tran- 

They re. quil and grateful ; they reposed in them. 

promises. Sound morality was a great part of their 
religion. Moral honesty — integrity to 
the core — was its chief corner-stone. At 



Substance and Shadow 263 

the foundation of the character of every 
genuine Sub-Ccelumite there were virtues 
and elements, cemented and established, 
to make it worthily everlasting. He felt Felt himself 

. . iii r continually 

himself continually searched by the eye of searched. 
Omniscience, and the observation and esti- 
mate of the world were of secondary im- 
portance to him. He distinguished be- 
tween the real substance, character, and its 
shadow, reputation. He was careful about 
repeating the Lord's Prayer, as he could 
not help regarding it as a test of himself, 
as well as an act of adoration to Deity. 
Before pronouncing the words, Forgive us 
our debts, as we also have forgiven our 
debtors, he hesitated, and inquisition be- 
gan. Conscience donned the ermine, and conscience 
consciousness testified. Conceit of sane- ermine. 
tity was not a natural result of such self- 
examination. The ideal seemed further 
from attainment with every effort; but 
effort was encouraged to become habitual 
by increased sense of responsibility. An 
individual, not responsible to party or sect, 
he had a conscience toward God. Doing 
his best to live virtuously and walk hum- 
bly, he confidently trusted the Creator to confidently 
take care of the creature. With the high- ruse ' 
est standards of conduct practicable or at- 



264 Sub-Ccelum 

tamable, he judged himself not less se- 
verely than his neighbor. The Golden 

Moral cm. Rule he believed to be particularly for self- 
wrages. a ppii ca tion. His moral anchorages were 
fixed and habitual. There were things 
that under no possible circumstances 
would he do. His principles were in such 
constant use that they had the look of in- 
stincts. His morals were so constantly 
applied that they had the appearance of 
habits. As was said, he picked out the 
marrow of religion, leaving the bones of 
theology to the professors. Sectarianism 
existed, but was not emphatic. Differ- 
ences of opinion could not be serious 
where there was only one sentiment. If 
priests and preachers quarreled to the 
detriment of religion, they were required 
to get together and understand one an- 
other ; nor was authority often necessary 
to separate them ; a few hours' contact 

Extremes reconciled them. Extremes and nice dis- 

and nice dis- ........ . c 

Unctions, tmctions in faith were more and more for- 
gotten or subordinated ; and while a com- 
mon basis was being discovered, it was felt 
to be wise by the sects to press differences 
tenderly. Religion was too essential, they 
said, to cling to any dogma. It looked to 
better and immutable conditions. Every 



Everything Prospective 265 

man believed in immortality ; and felt, as 
had been truly said, that he had a right to 
this belief ; that it corresponded with the 
wants of his nature. To him, the eternal 
existence of his soul was proved from his Proof of his 

r •• ti 1 • eternal ex- 

ldea of activity ; that, if he worked on in- istence. 
cessantly till his death, nature was bound 
to give him another form of existence, 
when the present one could no longer sus- 
tain his spirit. Everything, he exclaimed, 
with a great soul, is prospective, and man 
is to live hereafter. That the world was 
for his education was the only solution of 
the enigma. He inferred his destiny from 
the preparation. Whatever it is which the 
Great Providence made ready for him, it 
must be something large and generous, 
and in the great style of his works. The 
future must be up to the measure of man's 
faculties, — of memory, of hope, of imagi- 
nation, of reason. In a word, the life, the 
character, the faith, the aspirations of the 
Sub-Ccelumite, all united to make him an 
intelligent, responsible, religious optimist. 

Many of the religious denominations Sects and 

Creeds. 

had dwindled away, but those that re- 
mained showed a considerable degree of 
vitality. Descended from parents to chil- 



266 Sub-Ccelum 

dren, memory and association clung to 
them tenaciously. Chapels were every- 
where in which sectarian doctrines were 
still taught. Teachers were zealous, and 
Hardly a congregations were faithful, but hardly a 

particle of . , r , . . , _ ,,. 

bigotry sur- particle of bigotry survived. Intelligence 
and charity had made the sects friendly 
one with another. No attempt was made 
by either to turn the key of heaven 
against the rest. Exclusion or monopoly 
was no longer dreamed of. A hint .of it, 
even, was an offense to Christianity. 
Creeds were antiquated; new ones were 
impossible. People generally thought, and 
thought differently, and could not again be 
got to agree upon any set of abstract ideas. 
Godliness was a mystery they did not at- 
tempt to comprehend. It was in the en- 
deavor to know the unknowable that creeds 
had been produced and sects organized. 
If its teachers, they said, had continually 
taught the practice of Christianity, and not 
expended themselves in developing sys- 
tems of theology, all Christendom would 
long since have been a united army against 
The gloomy Satan. Alas ! they exclaimed, when the 
"theologies, gloomy and awful theologies become cu- 
riosities, how prodigiously ingenious will 
the intellects of their inventors appear ! 



Manner of Worship 267 

Also, in addition to the churches or worship. 
chapels of the different sects, in all the 
considerable towns there were commodious 
cathedrals, in which were sittings for all 
the inhabitants. These cathedrals were 
especially sacred to Religious Worship, 
which, to the enlightened and Christian 
population of Sub-Ccelum, consisted chiefly 
in Thanksgiving. Anthems were sung, rhanksgiv- 
and choruses, of the most exalted and ex- 1Mi 
alting character. Great organs shook the 
lofty edifices with their joyful and divine 
harmonies. When thousands of trained 
voices, led by the great organ, sang, 

Be Thou, O God, exalted high ! 

it did seem the Deity was lifted up. In The Deity 

1 111 r- 1 1 lifted up. 

these great cathedrals, at a fixed hour, on 
Sunday, the sects and the people assem- 
bled, and together, in one voice, and with 
one heart, worshiped God. 



